


Of Ash and Flame

by cagnition



Category: Hollow Knight (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Attempted Fratricide, Bonded by Oath, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fever, Fluff, Injury, Injury Recovery, Life Debt, M/M, Novel Length, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn, Trauma, enemy of my enemy, sworn Defender
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-08
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:41:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 47,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27446542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cagnition/pseuds/cagnition
Summary: Hunted by a stranger cloaked in red, the Pale King in a search for more territory to claim for his eternal kingdom is found to be wounded by the Radiance herself.Who is this scarlet eyed stranger, what is their purpose in following him so closely?Who is it they are sided with? And what is it they want from him?In search of medicine and on the edge of feverish, there are only so many that he can trust-- is this stranger one of them.
Relationships: Grimm/The Pale King (Hollow Knight)
Comments: 24
Kudos: 81





	1. The Wounded King

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CryptidSamoyed](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CryptidSamoyed/gifts).



> This is a commissioned fanfiction for CryptidSamoyed
> 
> I had a lot of fun writing this chapter, and I can't wait to actually get into writing the remainder of this fic, I'm hoping it goes as quick as my last one did. I intend for this to be at least 19 chapters long but I may revise the plot I have going and add some chapters to it so as to make certain things flow smoothly.
> 
> Aside from that, there isn't much else to say aside from hope you enjoy the fic, and hope it isn't too jumpy for you, it's been a while since I got back into writing, so it may just be a touch rough at the start.

Pristine.

Despite it all, flitting through the densely wooded grounds outside of his sacred kingdom, wings fluttering in short bursts to carry him over gaps of stony ridges and the earthen pits to wait for him below-- he seemed ever refined in his movements.

Ever precise...

ever pristine.

That was to say... until you got close enough to spy the hand of his clutching to his side through his many layers of the silvery-white robes, the material almost gleaming a brighter white and his steps (though quick and fleeting to the ground as they were) seemed hasty… but not quite what one could call rushed.

No, rushed would define that some semblance of panic had settled its icy grip somewhere deep within one’s being. No, this was something similar but something of an entirely different beast altogether.

Breath came in short but carefully drawn presses, hands not bound to keeping this seeping white from pouring through the fabric-- a flit of his wings and again he bound his way over the wide gap in the stone beneath his many claws. A white splash of pure Soul falls to the ground to spatter akin to simple ichor but remains gleaming-- glistening in the dying daylight, far more so than perhaps even the budding moonlight peering over the hem of the earth over yonder.

This rush of emotion that flooded him, was not quite fear, but damnably close toward what one could call it, something on the cusp of it, and yet…

Weaving between tightly knit trees, their precious material carving his path for him, as bloodied hand found its way pressed to the surface of one, pressing him from the staggered sprint he had taken to tearing through the densely wooded grounds, to partially slumping to the tree’s rough bark, feeling the fabric of his robes catch and tug on the rough surface.

Breath tore in ragged panting gasps from him, eyes pinched shut as his hand peeled back from the slick surface of his abdomen, looking to it with a shakiness that overtook his form.

Come on now, Pale King, you mustn’t let this shake overtake you as such, it’s unsightly for one of your origins.

But no matter how he focused on stilling his hand it would not lose its shudder or the fullness of its shake, leaving him, in turn, a man frustrated with the mortality of this damnable body-- He could at one point have engulfed the skies themselves with the casting pale light he gave from the grand form he’d had before this.

He was still capable of controlling such grand Soul and such grand light, but he was far more susceptible to damage in this form. As had been proven in the encounter had had had with the Radiance but moments before--

The bushes behind him rustled and his breath locked in his chest, eyes darting wide and hand returning to its place clutching to his wound, feeling the spilling Soul slow its egress from his body at the taut press of his hand to its surface, forcing the once clean fabric of his robes to the surface of his form, to stifle the flow as much as he could before he could slow to find some manner of antiseptic medicinal herbs or means to slow the bleeding.

He winced-- hard, despite his best efforts to hold to his proud and pristine self-image.

Scaling the grounds around him was slowly proving to be a challenge-- dammit why hadn’t he caught wind of her scent so nearby the kingdom, why hadn’t he caught wind of it sooner at the very least-- now she nearly knew the whereabouts of where it lay beneath the stone.

Even then, she had managed to manifest before him in a whirlwind of light and that damnably blinding fire of hers, and slashed at him, knowing him to be alone and knowing him to be unguarded. It was the perfect opportunity to attempt to strike him down.

But she had missed--

_Clutching his side, he hissed something unearthly and snarling, only to hear her retort with a sputtered laugh, “You think you frighten me, little wyrm, in a state so weak, I may as well take it upon myself to finish you o_ _ff,_ worm _\--”_

_He tensed, feeling his face tighten into a snarl, but knowing she would hold to her word, backing himself into the stony wall behind him, and feeling his magic well within his being. He had to get out of here-- he had to at least get away from_ her _, if nothing else, that was the very minimum that he needed to do to get free and ensure his beloved Kingdom and Root did not go without their King._

_The thought alone of the Kingdom left without its leader, and his beloved Root to mourn him drew a fire to well hot in his gut, burning on high and his expression loosened from its taut snarl to something cooler in tone._

_Something_ she _did not like, not in the slightest._

_In a blink of the eye, she was closer, and herself snarling that damnable sneering glare down at him, “Don’t you dare think you’ve got any means out of this, wyrm--” A white-hot pain lanced through the side of his tail, and he jerked to the side, just narrowly avoiding the fullness of a blade lancing down and through the length of his long body--_

_Eyes darted back to the Radiance and he could see the venom in her stare well in that could have been damnable grin-- echoing and sickly as ever, her voice rang hot in his helm, “Cold bodied enough to feel your end coming, I’ll have fun with that,_ worm _\--” And he hissed through his teeth at her, coiling his tail in close, and letting that magic that welled on high in his chest begin to come undone._

_He’d see how well she had fun with it the moment she realized what he was doing--_

“ _You’re quiet, Wyrm, what are you planning--” And at last she spied it, the glittering white light unraveling his form from the end of his tail and the center of his torso. And her eyes drew wide before the fire in them ignited and her expression boiled over with fury--_

“ _No!” She bellowed, conjuring from the ether a lancing nail to fire straight for him, to which he dove aside, his body following as though it were still in one piece, though the center had already begun to dissolve into two halves. Again a white-hot nail of pure pale ore manifested and shot for him, having crashed to the floor, his eyes drew wide, and he rolled to the side, dodging it, feeling the heat of a second, third, and fourth nail shank into the earth behind him before he could feel the magic unwind the breadth of his form at last--_

_Laughter flooded from him in sputtering bursts, but it seemed a bit too soon, as a fifth and final nail shot after him with her furious scream as he evaporated before her eyes, and a singeing pain shot through his tail as the last of it unraveled in plumes of pristine white light._

_He bit back the could have been howl of pain, stumbling forward as his form manifested in an area that only the stars knew where he was-- whipping his head round he could still see the fringes of her fiery light in her rage, the screams of fury to have let him get away so easily when she had had him at her wingtips._

_And he turned, stumbling, feeling the lancing pain of her last attack lash through his being, only to pause and glare back at the seeping wound as it welled over with pure Soul and spilled over its wound with his lifeblood._

_Her laugh filled the air not moments later. “I smell your scent in the air, Wyrm, you won’t escape me so easily--!”_

_And he turned and pressed forward with a new seated emotion festering then deep within his chest, eyes falling faintly wider, but daring to stuff it down and press what little magic he lad left to force the worst of his wounds shut._

_He had been a fool to leave the kingdom in search of new territory, knowing she could have been anywhere nearby, but now he had to deal with the consequences of his own damned actions._

  
  


Breath came in weighted and ragged presses, grasping the still pristine material at the hem of his robes and wrenching at them firm and feeling them at first resist but finally give with a faint twist of his hands, splitting the material away in a shredding tear away from the main body of his clothing and its many layers. 

He supposed he should thank himself for having such a frivolous sense of taste, and desiring such a state of robing, though he was indeed a king, and a state of luxury was what he deemed worthy of his being, it proved now to be useful if only in this instance. 

Slumped to a tree to right the massive unwrapped wound spearing through his tail, an exhale as he glanced about and back down to the wound lancing through his form before he e xhaled long and shaky. 

He hadn’t heard her in a while… he wasn’t sure if he should be happy of that or if he should be wary even still-- 

Looking to the mess of ichor he had let spill behind him, it was a good thing he had stopped here to start mending the damage she had done unto him, he could spy, as  far as his e yes would let him see, a trickling path of gleaming white. And if it didn’t attract her attention, the last thing he needed was it attracting the attention of something wild and unsightly coming in search of its next meal. 

But he needed to clean it before it could get infected-- and knowing her, that damned blade of hers was laced with her magic--

What fun would it be for her sworn enemy to fall to her control  and be little more than a puppet on a string for her, a member of her grand hivemind reborn, after all the time he spent fighting to free the bugs of Hallownest from the wrenching claws of that beast of a moth, what humor she would take in him being the first she added to her collection. 

And he could see the absolute agony in it for himself, but the power and the ego she would take of it, the genuine fury he would feel endlessly, but the mirth it would only bring her. Like a trapped beast and the cage being his own body… he shuddered at the very thought. 

Eyes darted then, scouring the grounds for something, anything he could find; a lake, a river, some manner of waterfall-- 

And then he heard it… trickling, fast, and dare he say almost rushing with the roar of something  splendid in his time of need. Winding the torn fabric about his hand to salvage for binding about the wound, the King’s sights were set on finding the source of that low thrumming roar and the trickle that more than certainly created the tremendous sound. 

Pressing from the tree he had slumped to, his legs pressed into motion, carrying him forth with little strain, but much of his body giving a grand complaint as to what he had in mind for it in place of simply hunkering down and finding the means to heal instead. 

He would admit that he hurt… and terribly so… but he was the Pale  _King…_ and he wouldn’t let a bit of pain stop him from his goal of seeing it through that she didn’t have the last laugh in the end. 

Clambering over the tumultuous stones in his path, he glanced about, searching, following what his hearing gave unto him, and let eyes fall shut a moment listening deeply for the sound of the roaring waters, before at last catching sound of it. 

The rustle of branches--

Subtle as it was, it was still something gentle enough to be noticed, perhaps easily mistaken as something of a trick of the wind, a rustling of a beast in these branches, but ah, in this state, any beast in these branches was certain to be seeking out the source of the perfect white ichor painting that path over the ground behind him. 

Soul manifested in his hand,  bubbling forth and calling forth a pristine white nail of intricate design, one of his many hands still keeping pressed to his now wrapped wound about the side of his abdomen, but he gave little ceremony in the rounding turn. Instead focusing pitch eyes upward to  the branches far above him, and catching sight of a winged figure flitting backward from view and higher into the branches. 

Dread at last welled low in his gut, winged entities were far and few to come across outside of perhaps butterflies, winged mantises, beetles, or flies-- and this stranger looked nothing of the sort. 

In fact, by the shape of them, this figure had been a flash of crimson somewhere within those branches, that much he had been certain of-- so it wasn’t the Radiance, but he wasn’t quite certain just what kind of deals she had made with other entities, or other Higher Beings he had yet to meet. 

But one thing for certain… that entity had been winged, crimson, and seemed almost akin to that of a moth-- 

His hand clenched tighter about his nail, the last thing he needed was a member of her loyal tribe turning on him and his kingdom, leaving behind his pact with them if only to try and save some manner of face with her for returning him to her. Or at the very least telling her where the King had taken to hiding--

“Come out-- I know you’re there” His voice boomed, though the pain was evident in the trailing end of it, it hung on high for all to hear within the waver of his tone. He winced, clutching tighter to his side, hissing a grunt low in his throat but did not take his eyes off of where he had seen the crimson last go, still spying the dregs of something crimson within the high hanging branches. 

T he tittering hiss of a laugh that came back in response was something almost taunting. 

And he couldn’t tell if the entity was, in fact, laughing at him or perhaps laughing at the fact they had in fact been caught-- and he rather felt it was a mix of both in this moment. 

“You certainly seem ill off, my friend--” 

His brow knit tight together, a sneer marring his once cool expression, “I am not your friend, stranger-- the best I know of you is that you could have been following me for the last few hours, how am I to know where you stand with me if all you are willing to do is hide away in the foliage akin to some common beast” He tightened his grip on his nail, eyes scanning over the treetops as the red figure shifted amidst the branches. “Lest I associate you with that of the common beast, I suggest you speak for yourself soon--”

Again the stranger gave a tittering hiss of a laugh, as though amused by the fire lingering at the far fringes of his tone, his own eyes narrowing as the figure shifted once more amidst the branches and dropped, bounding down to a lower set of branches, and then to the next lowest set-- the brilliant green foliage parting ways to show this stranger was, in fact, a peculiar entity indeed. 

But he had been correct in associating this one with a moth’s physique, those wings and how they flitted around the other’s form, flaring and falling back flush to their form, seeming to bear crimson hue that rivaled that of a roaring pyre. 

He had to say the sight of the wings alone was something familiar, but he couldn’t quite recall where he had seen it last. And the mention alone of a pyre-- locking stares with this scarlet eyed stranger, spying mirth on their face, he narrowed his eyes, but watched as they righted themselves and almost seemed to guise away their humor behind a certain curtain of mystery and propriety. 

That alone drew a sneer to cross the King’s face, the Wyrm daring to slash his nail through the air in a sharp slice, “I’ve no time for any semblance of games you should have planned for me, leave me be-- I command it!” 

He should have realized then that would have been some manner of his undoing, the stranger, in turn, giving a sharp hissing laugh instead, planting a hand on his head, breaking that semblance of collected self they had had but moments before. “You are  _hardly_ in any place to be commanding me of anything, my friend-- I believe I must say you look to be in need of my assistance moreover anything else, fair stranger”

A growl welled deep in his chest and he drew a deep breath, exhaling, rolling the handle of his weapon in hand, glancing to it and back to the crimson moth. It was a moment that clicked by, almost considering the entity’s assistance, but second-guessing it simply because of the truth that he knew not just why this one would even want to assist a stranger. Let alone one as gravely wounded as himself-- 

“I need no help from you, stranger”

“Oh, I was not offering you my aide, fair stranger” And silence fell for a missed beat, a low chortle leaving the crimson eyed other, “No, you seem far too intent on struggling through this agony you’ve driven down upon yourself in some manner or another, be it with or without the assistance of another, you seem highly intent on struggling through this on your lonesome” 

And there was a quirk of their head, the grin that split its way into being across their face something sharp and unsettling, but the eyes that burned brighter than any flame he had ever yet encountered locking with his own void pitch hues. 

He could feel his brow furrow, a growl in his chest, again tightening his fist taut about the nail in hand, enough so that he could hear the shell of his hand creak from the strain alone, the drying ichor that painted its surface still slick enough to let the nail rotate gently in hand with a subtle roll of the palm. 

“It would seem I am correct then, yes?” Again they chuckled, a hand lifting to meet with the tree’s trunk, the entity staring him down a moment longer before wings gave a flutter, his own giving a short flitting shuffle in response. As though he were willing to take flight and leap to battle for his life if the other tried to pull anything of the sort-- though judging by the mirth they took in his frustration alone, he doubted the entity wanted him dead.

No, he would have leapt to and struck him down by now if that was what the stranger wanted. 

It seemed for the moment… he just wanted him to wallow in his frustration-- 

“Then I should advise you, stranger, a storm is brewing overhead in the distance…” The grin drew faintly wider at the mention of it, glancing toward the skies, and though they rang out of a pristine blue shimmering hue, void of any clouds as far as he could spy through the foliage-- something about the confidence in the other’s voice rang far too true to be something to simply brush off. 

“I will leave you to your so self-driven path toward your own salvation then, my friend--” A renewed growl left him, moving to try and cut into that damnable comment of their relationship as anything but perfect strangers, but in the next split second, he spied the other pull his wings tight about himself and in the next moment-- a fiery burst of red and he was gone. 

This was not a simple moth… 

No, this had to be some manner of Higher Being much like himself-- no other entity would have magic like that lest they were powerful enough to hone the cosmos as such. 

Exhaling long and slow, his nail lowered, hand pressed to his wound feeling it pulse with pain at how tense he had let himself grow in the moments passed.  A grunt left him and again eyes drifted toward the far off sound of rushing waters. 

Come on Wyrm… he’s gone now, there’s no sense in dwelling on it now. 

  
  


The stranger had been right in his call of the weather’s drastic change before the day would fall to its end, though something about it rang almost… otherworldly. As though the weather itself were unnatural-- the rain droplets seeming to tinge the faintest shades of gleaming red for the start of the storm before the first crack of lightning struck down in the far distance. 

With tail dipped into the water’s edge and hand carefully passing palm s ful l of water over the underside of his tail to clean away the caked ichor and dirt, it wasn’t long before he could run his hand over the surface and feel the raw surface of split shell sting at his touch. 

Tucked away within a cavern beneath the rushing waterfall he had heard but a few hundred meters from himself, he hummed low to himself, musing inwardly on what he would have to do when he found the energy in the morning. Damning this mortal body for its need of rest-- he exhaled long and slow, shifting again as hands unwound the fabric from about the hand least bloodied by this escapade. 

Winding the fabric about the drastic wound about his tail, he exhaled long and slow before cinching it tightly with a hard wince and grunt, reaching beneath his robes to pluck away a pin from the fabric to turn attention back toward the wound and its makeshift bandages. A swift dip and press of the pin, a press and lock, and he gave a gentle nod of his head, running his hand over the surface--

It was imperfect, but it would hold while he slept… and if he knew his handiwork, it would hold while he went out to search for some manner of medicinal roots to try and remedy this potential infection coursing through these many wounds littering his form. 

Exhaling long and slow, he coiled his tail up from the water’s edge beneath the cool cavern’s protection as thunder pealed their terrible striking song of power and rumbling terror over the dark grey skies outside. 

His mind rolled through the many plants he had spied on his way here, the potential medicinal blends he could make and the salves that could be ground beneath the safety of this cavern’s walls, he couldn’t head back to the kingdom until he was certain he had lost her completely. Not without risk of bringing her straight to his people and plaguing them with boundless dreams of blinding light. 

That was the very last thing he needed… so he decided… 

Tomorrow… he would set out and cover his trail so that she wouldn’t know which way he had gone, cover his path, erase the trails of pristine white ichor he’d spilled over the earth, and make certain his safety was ensured. 

Yes… 

As he scrounged the collected moss, pushing it together into a heap to support his head, and tugging his now tattered robes tighter about himself, he curled in tight to shudder away the chill of the storm and the cool of this cavernous sanctuary he had made for himself. 

Hmm, perhaps a fire couldn’t hurt either… 

And with that last thought, his eyes pressed shut, and sleep came to him in fitful bursts, but rest, at last, came to him indeed. 


	2. Budding Infection

Waking… was like tearing himself from ice he had been frozen atop of-- stunted, jerky, akin to something he felt he had to chip at to so much as lift himself partway from the floor of this cavernous sanctuary he had taken roost in, but worst of all, it was nigh agonizing.

Heaving a weighty breath, he pinched eyes shut, forcing himself to rest on one of his sets of elbows while the other split their attention between clutching to his wounded abdomen wound in the torn material that had once been bonded to his robes.

And the opposite lifted to clutch to his head as it spun with the room surrounding him, oh by the stars, was his head killing him--

Exhaling slow and shaky, he peeled back the hand that had pressed to his abdomen and sighed with relief at the sight alone that it was not soaked through with the pure Soul ichor that coursed through his being-- relieved enough so that his head dropped back down to the floor to brush its surface if only briefly before he could feel the yearning desire to simply stay there threaten to overtake him.

How simple it would be to just lie there and let himself heal as such--

Were this the wounds from any other opponent he’d have gladly done as much, nursed his wounds and taken to seclusion within his palace walls to bury away in his luxuries once again and know he would return to full fitness before the week was through.

But this--

He heaved a long and low breath-- pushing himself up from the floor of the cavernous sanctuary he’d made for himself, pained grunt that followed then drowned out by the roar of the nearby waterfall.

Rolling over to sit on his knees there was a missed beat, a moment where he simply set himself in place just to rest though all he had done was to sit upright, and he frowned at himself. Come now, you are the Pale _King_ , you have been through far worse than this Wyrm-- this is nothing by comparison to what you’ve endured before. 

~~ Yes, but nothing this severe in a body this fragile…  ~~

Exhaling a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding he pushed to move onto his feet and jerked when a shock of throbbing pain rang through him-- his tail seizing up tight and the material tight wound about it barely gleaming a pale white from the bled through ichor that had seeped through the many layers of bandaging he’d put in place. 

Frustration painted his expression, what could it be now, was it simply that this body and its frail nervous system was spasming from the agony of a spearing wound he had endured before on a far grander scale (albeit in a body that had far fewer nerves than this one, and were far more spread out over the surface as compared to how tightly knit everything seemed to be within this mortal shell).  His tail coiled toward him, and sitting on his knees,  grasped the bindings and unhooked its clasping pin to set about unwinding the bandages. 

T he first few layers came away with ease, the next began to peel away with a mild stickiness, and the last two rounds… well, the second to last didn’t sting… the last… most certainly did-- 

Hissing despite his best efforts he exhaled slow and stared at the fabric in his hands when the material came free-- frowning at how it gleamed beneath the dark of the cavern’s looming ceiling, and ran a hand over the surface surrounding the wound (tenderly as his hand would allow him to), slowly turning his attention toward the  source of his pain and feeling his eyes draw wide at the sight. 

It was faint… the fact his own energy had taken to healing the majority of it was splendid enough, and he could say he marveled at such a feat himself, to the point of perhaps even one day boasting about it to his beloved Root when he would return to the Kingdom with this tale beneath his belt-- but there was a subtle orange gleam about the white shell surrounding the wound. 

He needed to find something for antiseptic… something to purge this from his system and  _fast_ . 

He had been so caught in trying to find shelter the day prior that he had naught so much of the idea as to search for the concept of medicine,  let alone to cover his own tracks-- hence why he had to set out to remedy what he had left behind the day before. As well as to seek out perhaps the means to purge this budding infection from his system before it became anything more than a minor throbbing ache in his tail as it already stood to be. 

H e refused to let her claws sink into him-- 

This chance of him losing himself to infection and burning away to madness beneath a thousand years of isolation within his own mind-- no, the thought alone sent a chill racing down to his very core to slice into him far deeper than anything the Radiance could have ever dealt. 

Perhaps a fear he had not known he had had, buried away deep within the recesses of his mind so as to keep it stowed deep and far away to never be found. And yet here this damnable circumstance-- this foolish ploy he had made for more territory had but unearthed a genuine fear that could very well be made real  were he not careful in the coming days, nay… hours. 

Exhaling long and slow, a roll of one of his hands and he grasped for the end of his robes once more, an opposite hand unfastening it from about his shoulders to shred a new strip from the edge of it without destroying the remainder of the material-- and he returned it to his person, slipping arms within the sleeves to carefully tug it nearer and fasten it about himself and cover the intricate and now  slashed and  bloodied stole beneath. 

Shuffling nearer to the water’s edge, he pressed the bloodied bandage into the clean waters and ran thumbs over its surface, washing away bit by bit the ichor that stained its surface-- it would never truly come clean, like Void, once Soul was imparted into a physical object, until it physically released the energy or it was coaxed from it fully by means even unknown to him in all his cycles on this world, it would linger…

And in lingering it would leave a glow, much like Void left a pitch stain that no pigment could hope to match--  as he pulled the strip of cloth from the water, wringing it dry and held it betwixt his upper set of hands, he exhaled a soft sigh of discontent at the subtle glow shimmering from the spilled ichor. 

T hat would be another thing, the glow reminded him, he would need to set up some means of fire so as to keep warm through the night-- he had followed this cavern as far back as it would allow him, gazing up and through the cracks in the ceiling at the far back that he had sworn he’d flitted over but the day before. A fire would be manageable… a stone and a strike against his nail to ignite kindling and he would be set… he simply hoped the smoke wouldn’t alert anyone of his presence.

The cracks were too small for anyone to fit through, even the smallest of bugs would have trouble slipping through-- and thereafter came the great fall they would h ave to face the moment afterward. 

No mortal bug could fit through the cracks to find the source of the smoke, and perhaps leave it as some hermit living within the ground to keep away from predators. 

But a flash of red flitted through his mind. 

That bug… that near-moth lookalike was anything but your average bug… 

He had vanished before his very eyes in a fiery plume of smoke and flames, unveiling himself as that of a Higher Being, and leaving him for lack of a better term-- tense  and wondering as to just whose side he, in fact, was on, or if he even truly had a side. 

There wasn’t an entity out there that didn’t know of the quarrel between the two that had turned into a full-on war, and it was no coincidence that he had been found so deep within the heavily forested and rocky grounds far above his Kingdom. 

There had to be some reason the stranger had sought to follow him in the trees as he had.

But with nothing to go on, and the only fact being that he only partly resembled that of a moth… he was floundering for answers as to just what that strange bug could want and why he had sought to waste his time as such yesterday. 

But it was nothing that he could focus on now, were he to worry on it too terribly now he may just work himself into an ill state of being,  which was the very last thing he needed… not at this moment… preferably never, but to fall ill now… when  _she_ may just be lurking about any corner, it could very well be the death of him in such a state. 

Inhaling deep and exhaling slow, he closed his eyes, setting to wrapping about the tail’s orange-tinged wound, small as it was it had struck through such vital tissue for his mobility-- were he not careful with it, he could very well end up with one hell of a limp toward the end of his many legs. 

And with a pin returned to secure it and the sopping wet bandage lain out over the stone to dry, he rose to his feet (a wince as his body protested such strain) and turned attention toward the waterfall. A shield he had gathered from outside, being that of a terribly large life to keep him dry as he passed beneath the fringe of the waterfall found its way back into his hands, partially wilting but with a pulse of Soul, it bloomed back to life. 

A renewed glance to the cavern’s only viable exit and a slow steadying breath to numb himself to the ache  threatening to  overtak e his being.  The image of the stranger wound in their robe of crimson once more flashing behind those pitch hues, wary that perhaps he may run into the stranger once again in his travels and search of  medicinal herbs and something antiseptic to purge his system of this infection. 

Hands tugged what remained of his robes about himself for warmth in the cool cavern, the free set of hands lifting the grand leaf overhead and granting him the safe passage beneath the waterfall’s fringe. 

  
  


A branch in hand, and an arm full of herbs that would make a perfect salve to treat the wounds littering his body, his attentions were tied to seeking out the pale white gleam of the ichor that painted a path behind where he had last traveled, daring to follow his own tracks toward where the Radiance had last been seen so as to ensure if she did come searching for him she would find nothing but a dead end. 

The last thing he needed was to feel her seething fury burn down the back of his neck and seer the last thing he’d see into his shell as nothing more than blinding white light and the agonizing burn of whatever attack the wretch could muster  and deem worthy enough to put an end to her ancient enemy . 

There was still one thing he needed to find, however, and that was something antiseptic… 

He recalled-- and this had been entirely in thanks to his dear Root exploring the lands before they had chosen these grounds to bore into for the kingdom, but he could recall her talk on a particular (funnily enough) root that grew at the base of trees near here. 

But not just any tree-- it was a particular tree, something with a white trunk as he could recall and dark, needle-like leaves… thinking on it he could swear he had spied one quite like that on his way toward the cavern he had taken up as his safe haven, but then came the trouble of remembering  _where_ he had last seen it. 

Something about it frustrated him to no end and he couldn’t quite recall why-- and at last, it hit him. 

“The stranger...”

He mumbled to himself low before  huffing and tossing aside the branch in his hand, discarding the only article that had aided him in dusting away the path of pure liquid Soul that had to bury it beneath shrubs and mulch of the fallen leaves surrounding him. 

He wouldn’t be able to get rid of the glow, and if she wanted, she could track him based entirely off of that glow in the night, but she knew he was stronger then… and she-- far weaker. She wouldn’t have been caught dead near him in a time so dark. 

But it left him to recall, the treetops he had stared into, many had been a verdant green but one that had shaded the stranger from above had been far darker in its foliage, and bore branches of a starker shade of white, standing out stark from its many compatriots. 

“Of course, the tree the man had been standing in had to be the one I’m searching for--”

“You know, talking to yourself is said to be the first sign of insanity, are you alright, my friend-- you have not been out here long” A lilting call beckoned his attention, calling for him to glance about and search for the source of the taunting voice. 

He swore he knew who to look for, he had heard the voice before-- 

Spinning around, he found no sign of any bug anywhere near him, nor standing off afar from him, unless-- and his head lifted, eyes narrowing with an expression threatening on a sneer, scanning the foliage only to find the familiar figure-- not standing on the branch this time, but sitting with legs neatly crossed and elbows perched on his knee, fingers interwoven so as to perch his head atop their knit bridge. 

He bobbed his leg in the air in a lackadaisical manner, humming low  with a mild amusement to which the Pale King only narrowed his eyes further, daring to glare down this stranger he could only seem to find distrust in this state of vulnerability he found himself in. 

“Have you been following me...” 

A moment clicked by and the red shelled other tutted, shaking his head, humming low, raspy voice  breaking the silence of the forested grounds once again, “So distrustful, this one-- you would think you would seek another’s assistance in your time of need”

He tensed, Soul welling in his palm but not summoning his nail quite yet, “And what speaks of my need for assistance, I need no one, stranger… what brings you to these grounds, your face has not been seen in these territories before-- I would know, I have been here millennia and no one of the likes of you has ever shown their face” His brow furrowed, narrowed eyes staring into the shocking crimson of the others and daring to gaze upon the terrible fire that burned within. 

Twin slits ran down either side of the stranger’s face, his shell adorning his head a crimson  shade that rivaled the shade of scarlet within his hues, but nothing quite as terrible or bright. There was just so much about this man that marked him as memorable, he couldn’t forget someone like him if he had wanted to-- and he was one to try and recall every citizen within his keep… be it a visitor, or a permanent resident, as distant a King as he could be, he still cared deeply for his people, but this man-- he most definitely was not one of his people. 

Something about him…  _something_ about him rang familiar but he couldn’t tell what it was. 

“You say as much, speaking such big talk when you are so gravely wounded, my friend--”

“I am not _your friend--_ ”

“I can smell the infection beginning to grow on you.”

And he fell silent. 

The hand that had been ready to summon his nail drew almost shaky, before forcing itself to clench tight and hold still, nail manifesting in its grip as some means to ground himself-- something to grasp and know he could fight back if the other went too far out of line. 

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you, you are in no shape to fight, let alone win, my friend”

A nd he knew it was true, but he did nothing to return the blade to the ether from whence it came. 

He knew-- how did he know. 

Did he know the Radiance-- 

Was he on her side-- 

He had to be able to know about the infection, to know of the mind killing plague that swept across all of bugkind and robbed them of their very will, he had to have known of her force over them, and what he did to free them from their  captivity beneath her iron force of will. 

“What side did you choose...”

_That_ seemed to perk the other’s curiosity,  his head lifting from interlaced fingers, “Hmm?”

The Wyrm lifted his head, stark black eyes locking again with the unearthly crimson hues of the man far above him, “You know of the infection… you must then know of  _her_ . So then I must ask of you,  _my friend_ , whose side have you chosen”

To which, the grin that split his face was something almost eerie, a long exhale leaving him and dragging with it plumes of crimson smoke, before he swung backward over the branch, but as one would have expected him to appear beneath the branch as he fell-- nothing came. 

Instead, the Pale King watched with a mild surprise and a sharper sense of curiosity as the other rounded about the base of the tree he had been perched in and leaned against it-- as though he had manifested from the nothingness. 

He was a Higher Being with something special about him, that was for certain-- be it a plane all his own, or a realm-- no one could simply vanish and appear as such without a trace without some manner of trade lest they had access to the planes in some manner. 

The question then begged of him, what plane was he associated with… 

Judging by the eerie aura that he presented, the sheer roiling pride that rolled from him in wafting sheets of unseen waves of crimson glow,  whatever he was associated with was nothing good. 

“I am on the side of whoever I see best benefits me, my friend-- whoever catches my attention, whoever should keep me most amused, and you are a subject of my focus in the days come by” 

There was a certain kind of chill to the man’s words as he spoke, stepping nearer, and looming over the Pale King with his towering height. To speak so coldly of the world, as though all in it were there but to amuse him and nothing more-- 

It was an outright cruel way to look upon the world, a selfish way to view all of the mortal populace and the remaining Higher Beings that lived thus within the realms. 

_Something_ about it rang too familiar, but he couldn’t place it. 

The other strode nearer in a sweeping gait forward that left the only option to get away from the other to be to take flight, but as he flared his wings, the blood flooding their main veins to kick him off the ground, robe parting at the pack to allow them to flare-- he could feel the surge of pain tear through his abdomen. 

The strain of muscle from the lift of his wings alone tugged at the still healing  tissue and drew him to hiss in pain,  though  as the other drew nearer, he could not help but draw his own snarl from deep in his chest, ignoring the shooting pain and fanning wings wide to flit backward. 

Eyes never left the stranger but the moment he blinked, it was a plume of red and the figure had vanished yet again before his eyes, leaving then the sensation of a pair of hands on his shoulders to jolt his attention behind him. 

“I say, your robes are far shorter than last I saw you, be this a new fashion trend, or have you resorted to destroying your clothing for the sake of your own salvation”

It was the first time he could remember giving a cry of surprise, really ever, wings beating hard against the legs of the stranger and forcing him forward with great force despite the strain it put on the barely pieced together wound. 

The hands gave up their gentle grasp on his shoulders and allowed him to dart forward through the small clearing, making as much distance between himself and the other as possible, and spiral round to face the crimson eyed other. 

Laughter had already begun to billow up from its place buried within the red shelled man’s chest, a hand lifting to ghost across his chest a moment before lifting higher and grasping at his brow as though great m irth had just struck him in these moments past. 

The brow of the Pale King’s helm furrowed tight together, frustration building to a keen dislike of the other, something heavy and festering the longer he was forced to spend time with the man-- “Do I  _amuse_ you--” He snapped, a hiss grating the tail end of his words, and watching as the stranger heaved a grand sigh as though to catch his breath and smiled. 

“Why, yes, you do-- very keen of you to notice so quickly, little king”

That chill shook through him again, how did he know he was a king, not even the Radiance knew of his Kingdom-- well, she had her suspicions, and she bled into the dreams of those that could find the will to find a full sleep in the night, but she had not found a trace of where it could be… not until recently… 

Not until he’d surfaced in search of more territory-- stars, he could still just kick himself for  engaging in  such a foolish endeavor. 

He had not believed he would need any such knight to guard him, and even if he had-- she would have simply overtaken the pour soul before they could have so much as done anything to defend  _themselves_ let alone  _him_ . 

A growl built its way in his chest, low but enough that it drove him to grip taut about his nail and clutch tight enough that the shell of his hand bowed and creaked from the strain of his force. Were he a taller entity, he was almost certain he would have been taken far more seriously than he currently was-- alas he had forged this form within its shell to be as it was, believing himself on the height of the average bug to make it easier to meet their eyes and gain their alliances. 

He damned himself at this moment for making this form so much shorter than the other, if only because in this very instance he just wanted to stare the other down without having to tilt his head back to stare up at him as he did his beloved Root. 

This one didn’t deserve for him to look up to gaze upon him--

“I am not here to amuse you, nor am I here to be your _playmate_ \--” He hissed, pointing his blade down and to the side as though ready to lunge for an attack, though he knew the other could very easily end him in the state he had put himself in. “How did you know that I am a king--”

“Ah, the answer is simple, my friend, the commanding in the day prior and how you seem to believe that I will simply do as you please as though I am but a simple servant to you-- it is the markings of a king, not just any sort of king, but a young one at that”

He gave a short snort of distaste at the comment of being a young king,  knowing himself to be old as pale light cast upon the planes, but his Kingdom in itself… was young-- so as much as he hated to admit it, the other was damnably… right. 

“But really, enough of this childishness, I seek only to ask a question bearing what you had been rambling on about to yourself before you decided to flit away like some common fly, little king--” Again the other took to striding nearer, but slower this time, knowing now that he would flit backward if approached as quickly as before and having had his humor with it. 

“What. Is it. You want...” He grit through pursed mandibles, stifling the growl that wanted to build in his chest at the comment of his species associated with something so-- _mundane_.

And the stranger cloaked in crimson stopped to lean forward before him, meeting his eye level but keeping a distance enough that he couldn’t simply gnash his teeth and perhaps split the shell of his damned face-- 

~~ Cool it, calm down, Wyrm, he’s just riling you up, calm y ~~ ~~ ourself ~~ ~~.  ~~

“ _What_ is so special about the tree I had been standing in yesterday…”

Gritting his mandibles taut together he exhaled long and slow, barely restraining himself from clicking jaws at the other as instinct pleaded for him to do. 

That root, bioluminescent in its nature, was his only recalled goal to reach before night fell, and even then he had to recall where it was. Knowing the luck of this one, he was far more familiar with the forest surrounding them than he was and would know exactly where to look before he could hope to begin searching. 

“I am not telling you that”

The stranger than stood back to his towering full height to press a hand to his chest, the cloak of wings tugged in close about his person, “So terribly rude, this one” A downward glance and a grin that marked a complete lack of any shame in being the source of such a great sense of one’s irritation, it almost seemed as though the man took a great deal of pride in irritating him to this degree. 

“And I must say I’m finding your company terribly irritating as well-- perhaps it would be best if we were to part ways and not meet again, hm?” He gave a grit back but short huff of breath and moved to turn and leave. 

“If you should have it that way, then I should suppose you wouldn’t mind if I see what is beneath that tree then, yes?|

Freezing, he exhaled long and slow, agitation broiling high in his being, but rounded his gaze to meet back with the unearthly crimson of the other’s hues. Pitch locking with his own but falling half-lidded in his frustration.

“What is it you want from me...”

“We will meet each other tomorrow, that much I am certain of, other than that, I desire the brand of amusement you bring to me if you should desire me to… how did you say it? _Pick a side?_ ”He hummed, mimicking an almost childish sense of curiosity, but that grin that had remained fixed in place reading anything but. 

“Then you want me to endure your company if it means you won’t go to her with where I am…”

And a lift of his hand, wings flaring out faintly behind him, the stranger in red gave a single point of a lone finger, waving it through the air as though that had been the soul answer he had been searching for, “Correct,  _correct_ , indeed--!” 

A growl burned its way through his chest, claws digging into his palm as his hand tightened further about the nail’s grip, almost daring to split the surface of his shell. 

“Fine...”

And the other cupped a hand to his shell, as though he had not heard quite what he’d said, “I dare say could you repeat yourself, I don’t believe I caught that quite clearly enough--”

“ _I said fine--_ I’ll endure your company… but only if you leave the surroundings of that tree alone” 

And the other grinned just the littlest but wider, “Then so be it, my friend… I will see you on the morrow, yes?”

A heaving sigh fell from the king like a fallen weight, his eyes falling shut briefly, before pressing back open to glare back up at the taller Higher Being he still had yet to learn the name of. 

“So be it…”

And with a proud nod, the other pulled his wings in tight about himself, as though it were a cloak of ordinary material, and pulled it tighter still, a whirling spin and in that same fiery flash of red flames and burning hot smoke-- he was gone.

It seemed for the first time in what felt like hours he could breathe a sigh of relief. 

At least he had that damnable troublemaking entity off his hands for the time being. 

  
  


Scouring the woods, if he was honest, had been no easy task, not when he had such limited daylight and the looming threats all around him,  but as daylight fell to twilight, and he was left to follow the faintest glow of his own ichor strewn over the path he had taken the day prior, it was not long before he found the towering old tree he had been searching for. 

With eager hands delving into the earth he’d peeled back the surface of moss and mulch and needles to unearth the faint blue gleam of the tuber he had been searching for. The scent, he’d caught through the surface of the earth, had been faint, but not, this acrid and nigh astringent smelling root in his hands was certain to purge this infection from his system. 

The only matter at hand now would be finding more of it to get the right dosage to slather over the surface. Though powerful in scent, the root he had collected had been smaller, it was enough to coat one side of his tail’s wound, but not the other, unless he spread it as thin as possible and simply prayed it worked. 

But prayers did nothing for the gods… 

Laying out a bed of leaves to coil on, with a fire near set to stave off the chill of the cavern, the Pale King heaved a sigh and pressed hands to the surface of the woven mat he had crafted to rest his head on atop the leaf pile’s surface, before rolling over to lay on his side with back to the fire.

And the last thing he wanted to stare into was that damnable fire… something about it said that if he gazed too long, that stranger may just find a way to gaze back… and that, as he closed his eyes, was the last thing he needed.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey again, 
> 
> Cagnition here, wanted to say I'm getting back into the swing of writing so from here out I should be updating this once a week at minimum, maybe twice if I can find the time to work on this on days when I have work
> 
> Hope you guys liked this chapter, I felt a little wishy-washy on it because of how injury focused it was and how slow it started, but I'm pleased to be moving the story along as I am


	3. Fruitless Endeavor

That night… he dreamt of light… it was not the pale sort of which he held domain over.

No this was a blinding and fiery light that bled into his dreams, something brighter than anything he had ever before seen. And he knew when he had been asleep, from the moment he could hear her wings flutter in the far distance, stuck in her domain, but there was little he could do to press it from his mind.

No words he could call to bring forth his faithful followers, no spell he could cast--

But there was a point where the light faded, where the heat of it no longer singed his being, but as he woke the heat never quite left him.

Casting magic... had always been one of the few things he had a great access to, no matter where he was, no matter what state of being he found himself in, so long as he had access to Soul, he could cast some form of magic and summon himself a weapon, conjure himself some manner of new clothing, call forth something from the ether and fill the void of space that had been in his hands but moments before.

It had been something he had used to call forth much of what now many referred to as the White Palace, having bored through the earth himself to sculpt the grounds for the kingdom he had fought to bring into their own separate light of freedom and self deigned thought.

But it was limited…

Inorganic items, or items that had never truly been _alive._

As such he could heal himself, stitch back together something already living, but he could not create something already living. In an essence, even plants would lack that genuine essence of life, something deeper that brought them into being… dare he say… a Soul.

Something he harnessed in passing to keep himself maintained and tidy as could be even in this terrible state of things he had found himself in.

He had done it once before… creating life from nothing.

Generating himself a body, but that had been something to which he had transferred a Soul from one body to the next, and if he thought about it; running a hand down the bandaged section of his tail and wincing despite his best efforts to hold himself steady, he supposed it didn’t truly count. As much of a stab to his pride as it was, this time alone was a time to consider his accomplishments and flesh what was genuine from the self deigned truths.

Though in essence, he felt it to be picking himself apart, another part of himself felt it only to be for the better.

What better… well… he didn’t know.

He still damned himself for the weakness in having to resort to his own clothing, though he had been too weak to conjure anything strong enough to support the weight of being a bandage for such a grievous wound, he couldn’t help but feel the sting of its failure slash at him even now.

Days had passed since its incident, albeit only two, but it left him with enough strength to call forth a soft material to wind about his wounds, the salve he had ground from the herbs collected first smeared over the wounds less severe in nature to his person, but the budding infection that had now speared through his being at the core of his long tail… until he could get his hands on another root so as to pair with the one he still had on hand… there was nothing he could do.

Rolling from his side to press up from the bed of wilted leaves, he heaved a soft groan-- was it possible for these wounds to ache more the longer he was injured? Certainly, his healing factor should have taken effect lest something was stopping it.

Eyes pressed open, exhaling slow, and a hand slipped to press to his side-- no dampness, such news was good though it was something stable from the day prior, it was news that had remained steady… which was something he needed in this time.

The pressure of his hand drew a burn, something he expected but nothing quite as intense as what he experienced.

Pressing back the hand and prying at his stole, fastening buttons came undone with ease and he slipped arms free of the side, exhaling a breath before taking to unwinding bandages fastened about his abdomen.

Anxiety hung high in his throat at the very idea of what he might find, dreading the sight of that ring of orange he might find surrounding the slice that had only just begun to piece itself back together, and yet, knowing that to be the only thing that could bring such a blighting burn.

Nothing, thankfully, stuck to the next layer-- telling him that it was healing fine, at the very least he had this much going for him, but it told him that whatever was causing this pain had also cemented itself within his being.

And as much as he loathed to admit it-- the idea of whatever she had lain unto him in that strike becoming a part of his being… as evidence alone from the dream that plagued him through the night…

It scared him.

Carefully unwinding the bandages that remained nigh clean thanks to the effect of his healing factor and the speed to which his body had healed with the help of his gift of Soul coursing through his being, the final few layers came away without resistance, the last of them barely daring to stick to the split chitin and where it had been cleaved away by the swing of that brute’s nail.

Exhaling slow, he pressed back the final layer with a hand to spy what he had dreaded most appear before his eyes at the very edge of its tattered seam.

That damnable golden yellow gleam over his otherwise pristine white shell--

Stars, he could feel a shake threaten to overcome him, but with the greatest strength, he could muster he did all that he could to stifle it and still it, forcing it back to the nothingness it had risen from, stowing it deep away. He had no time to deal with such a weakness… not now… he hadn’t even seen the fullness of the damage.

And he exhaled, long and slow, eyes pressing shut, and reopening but a moment later in a languid press as he let the fabric be pressed back from the wound’s edge to unveil the pale orange skin to the split surface of what had once lain beneath his shell.

He could feel the panic rise in his throat, the surreal nature of it bubbling to the surface, to spy the thin skin of a bubbling infection blistering over beneath the bandage. It was no wonder he had felt no pain beneath the bandages, nor had he felt any semblance of resistance until the bandages peeled back from the skin atop the budding infection.

Eyes dared to pinch shut, and breath shook, inhaling deep and exhaling long and slow, convincing himself that something so simple would steady himself even though he could feel this fragile body fight to tremor.

No.

_No._

And he clenched his fists tight, clutching at the bandages about him, this was not how he would die.

He was the Pale _King_.

The source of all pale light that fell upon this plane, and the father of its creation.

He refused to let his fall be at the hands of that terrible wretch of a Higher Being, if only from pure spite for her alone. Exhaling once more, slower now, but stronger and deeper-- calling forth that weakness from deep within himself to come forth if only to be banished with the brush of a hand.

He would not let some simple fear overtake him-- no matter how real a possibility it could be.

Wound unwound, he rose from the ground, removing the bandages, knowing it healed enough to go without them-- and buttoned the front of his intricate stole, if only to ready himself for the chill of the world outside of this cavern’s walls.

And he stood…

And he stumbled…

His head rushed with a dizziness he had never yet experienced before, was it him, or was it that the grounds outside of the fire’s reach of warmth had grown far colder.

No, it had to be something of his imagination, he was certain of it, standing too quickly perhaps and then being stripped of this dying hearth’s glow so near him.

Yes… that must be it.

Exhaling again, long and slow to steady himself, he put a hand to the tremendous cavern’s wall and paused, another hand lifting to smooth up the surface of his shell’s brow, running to the side at the crest beneath his great mantle of horns, and drew pause.

Peculiar… he could almost swear he felt warmer to the touch than the norm… even just in being at the fire’s edge… but he had had his back turned to it, this was not a temperature that could have been caused by it, right?

Oh dear.

Gritting his mandibles and curling hands taut into fists once more, his wings fluttered tensely as his fight or flight response fought to take the reigns.

But there was nowhere he could run from this… and no beast he could fight for something so…

_Mortal…_

Brow furrowed deep with frustration and a breath rushed from him as a determination settled deep within his core, and he drew a new breath in deep to hold and feel it swell his chest as far as it would dare expand-- even daring to hold the breath until he could feel the burn for new breath ache within him.

And as he let it spill from him in a slow press, his eyes too pressed open with a low fire in them.

He _needed_ to find that medicine, much more than just one simple root, but as much as this forest would offer him were he to survive this with his free will intact.

A pause to shrug away his tattered robes, and he gave a swift wave of a hand, casting forth light that conjured the pale fabric of a new robe’s swathing sashes of silken material from the ether,.

Swinging it round, catching it in the opposite hand matching his conjuring hand, the hand taking on its own gleam as the robe continued to manifest, twinkling and glittering into being-- he tugged the still manifesting article as it flowed and drifted in the subtle breeze of the cavern.

Stepping forward and banishing what little sway dared press at his step, he scooped the rejuvenated makeshift umbrella into his hands and turned attention toward to pouring waterfall at the maw of the cavern--

Wherever this stranger was, this medicine most certainly would be…

He was certain of it.

  
  


Six…

Six trees now, and he had come up empty-handed… but a familiar scent trailed in the air no matter where he went, with claws raking through the earth as the only indicator that he had been too late to reap the treasures of what lay buried beneath the surface of the mulch and fallen needles.

One of smoke and amber, warm and rich with the scent of a tanned hide-- dare he say the scent of a cologne in the air amidst the scent of the one responsible for this.

A growl rose in his throat, stepping through beneath a low hanging branch, he could feel it now that should he search for this root beneath the circumstances that were weighted upon him. He could only hope to know what the other could want from him for making him run about like a fool in search of medicine knowing he would come up fruitless in his search.

The light of the sun gleamed high overhead, a cool breeze pressing at him as he stepped through into a small clearing, drawing him to lift an arm to shield his eyes and he narrowed the pitch hues, squinting to stave off the burn of the light after being so courteously shaded by the foliage of the towering trees surrounding the grounds.

As his eyes adjusted, he could spy a figure standing toward the other end of the clearing, a familiar scent in the air, as well as an astringent scent paired with it, almost overpowering the smell of smoke and amber.

The growl renewed itself in his throat-- recognition setting in as his vision at last cleared and crimson peaked into the figure’s fringes, sparking into those eyes and burning through him in a sense he almost couldn’t explain-- a grin splitting that face and his attention finally drawing to the shape of the basket draped over the bug’s curled arm, laden with the weight or a dirt greyed familiar shape he had been searching for for the majority of the day.

He seethed, eyes burning with an expression that bordered on loathing--

Hours… hours he had spent scouring the earth for those damnable tubers, and here this stranger had well over ten weighting a woven basket on their arm as though they were a common commodity and the smell of freshly turned earth still fresh on his claws.

It was second nature that his nail manifested in his hand, stepping forward, he damned himself when his being swayed and he had to correct himself in a quick stumble, seeming only to widen the grin of the other.

“Give. Me. That basket.” He seethed, exhaling slow and forcing his attention away from the tremor that rattled his being despite his best efforts to remain steady.

The stranger, in turn, only seemed to hum in a bemused manner and shake his head, scarlet hues falling shut, “My, my, so demanding-- and not even a word to ask politely for its contents, simply a command from this little king, ah, but it would seem it is what I should come to expect of you, mm?”

He heaved a shuddering breath, vision bleared by the sunlight, yes, he convinced himself-- it was the sunlight that drew the fringes of his vision to blur and fray.

It only seemed that things drew worse whenever the stranger drew near him… as though he were but a force in itself that pulled along the force that progressed his condition into this growingly ill state.

Even when he was away from him, his thoughts were clouded by faint images or hints of the man--

“You...”

He stepped nearer, a row of pristine and pure white nails of intricate design manifesting one by one in the air behind him, one after the other until a row of five had been called into being.

“Why are you doing this...”

“Mm…?”

His eyes did not open, but the stranger gave a tilt of his head, as though merry and yet innocently curious in this moment. Roiling fury broiled deep within the king, he deserved no such expression with such medicinal resources hoarded in his possession as such--

“Do not play as though you are unaware of what you have done, stranger--!” He slashed his blade through the air, moving to step nearer and watching as the other drew in a breath and chortled softly in his chest.

“You broke our agreement--”

And those wicked crimson eyes opened, jagged toothed grin still wide as ever, “Ah, but I did not, my friend”

“I asked that you not touch the grounds surrounding the trees alike to what you had been standing in--” His breath heaved from him in a growl, the stranger’s head held high and gazing down at him as though he were but another mortal entity to be played with akin to a child’s toy.

“You requested I not touch the grounds of the tree I had been standing in, my friend, you spoke nothing on the trees matching its likeness” And a chill swelled in his chest, cold and then hot with frustration, dammit… _dammit_ , he was right. He was right and he hated to admit that he was--

But he was absolutely right…

His eyes narrowed, tightening his grasp on his blade and rolling it in his hand as realization struck at last, “You’re toying with me...”

A hand lifted and pressed to the stranger’s chest, as though aghast at such a concept, though he feigned an expression of great innocence, he could see the corners of his mouth curl with that damnable grin. “What? Me? My, I would never do such a thing--”

And in a blast a nail soared through the air, the stranger dodging it nigh effortlessly as it dug into the tree’s trunk behind him, it was nigh a roar that slipped from him, the remaining nails fanning out to match their original breadth, “Do not lie to me, stranger--!” A pause and he barely restrained the hiss that threatened to pas through grit mandibles, “You never answered my question…” And he drew in a shaky breath, taking a rounding step to start a circling path about the other, to which the towering entity took to doing the very same.

Step for step…

Stride for stride…

“And what, my friend, would that question be?”

The king’s brow to his shell furrowed, a roll of the blade in his hand and a shell creaking squeeze of the nail’s handle, “Why are you here… why are you following me… why are you doing any of this?”

And that grin returned with a fire to light its path, spreading sharper and wider than it had before, the hand that had been before his chest curling in a sort of curious delight, and the bug seeming to lift his head just the littlest bit higher.

His steps seemed to draw on with a curling sway, cloak of wings fluttering behind him with a soft shudder and fwip through the air as though to right themselves though they were already nigh immaculate.

“Because you are terrible at choosing your prizes in a bargain…” And a growl built in the Wyrm’s throat, a hiss low but quick behind its appearance as the still unnamed bug continued to talk “Because you are so quick to rise in ire and lack trust in any simple stranger though your situation should demand it of you…”

And he turned, stopping his stride, and bent forward a bit, grinning that sharp smile that gleamed in the blinding sunlight, “To simply put it, I am doing what I am doing…”

As he rolled his nail in hand, preparing for some explanation that told him he was on the side of that wretched entity and sought to see the end of him, nothing really prepared him for the words that came next.

“ _\--because you amuse me…”_

His nail’s point dipped as shock struck its wielder, eyes drawing wider as realization washed over him… yes, he had been being toyed with but… this entire time, even depriving him of something just to make him angry was to… amuse him?

His suffering… his pain… amused him?

Fury bubbled into wrath, boiling over in his gut before tensing shoulders drew in clenching fists and an enraged howl of rage tore from him, pitch hues wide with a maddened sense of being as he lunged for the other with nail drawn back and high.

The stagger to his step abandoned in thought, as was the slowed processing to his surroundings, and the blear to his vision-- all that mattered was the feeling of his nail meeting with shell and striking down this insolent entity at this moment.

Slashing, his blade tore through the air with a wicked speed, even weakened by the atrocities done unto him but days prior, wings even dared to flare on high and force him through the air toward the other faster than what any normal bug could have been capable of.

But with each tear of his nail through the air-- again, a third time, from left to right and then earth to sky, lunging after the stranger’s being, he never quite met purchase.

It was as though the man knew just where to duck, where to step, and where to leap so as to avoid being struck… it was either that or he really was too far gone in this illness to be fighting this man as he was.

The nearest he came to meeting blade to shell was a nick to the fringe of his wing-- to which he earned a hiss and a frown, but drew a grin to cross his own face.

And despite it all, that damn basket remained and its contents remained undisturbed, not so much as barely shifting their weight within it with each artful dodge and leap the other bug took to avoid him. The clearing to the densely wooded forest seemed to be little more than a makeshift stage for this impromptu dance the two of them seemed to be having, a leap here met with a forward bound, and a slash met with a curling duck down to avoid the sting of the weapon.

He gave another high slash, pushing the other back again, and watching with a giddy sort of hope in his gut amidst this fury that he might be able to strike, watching as the stranger leapt backward into the crevice of two tight-knit trees-- feeling their rough surface brush to the back of his wings and whip his head round with a soft sort of surprise, then back round as the king leapt with a twist to strike true and deal unto this insolent entity a punishment he felt rightful.

But amidst the lunge, with wings carrying him, the twist to strike turned him far too tight to the side, and righteous delight to spy that expression of shock and recognition of agony to come, blinding agony split its way through his own being.

Slash of great strength that would have been carried through swished helplessly through the air, hands finding the side of his abdomen as orange ooze and white gleaming ichor spilled through the confines of his bandages within mere moments, hand that held his blade barely clutching to the weapon as eyes fell wide with shock, confusion, then realization.

It was nigh instantaneous on the other’s face, pulling himself backward as far as he could to dodge the swing of the sharp nail though its swing had dulled in strength greatly, those crimson eyes remained wide with confusion, then recognition-- and then glee spilled into their being.

Laughter spilled from the other as the Wyrm staggered backward, choking back agonized grunts and pinching eyes shut to keep himself from collapsing to his knees. No, he would not show such weakness before the other--

No, he would not--

He would… not…

His knees gave way beneath him and the billowing laughter bubbled into howling cackling to see the other reduced to such a state when he had been so driven to strike the crimson cloaked stranger down but moments before, driven by fury. “Oh come now, little king, where has all that fury gone, certainly you can strike me down through such a wound, yes?”

He leaned forward to let his words of mocking amusement spill forth, seeking only to fuel the fire of his fury and see how much he could drive the man into a state of rage.

And he choked out the words that spilled from his lips, “Give me… those… roots…” It was halting and ragged, lifting his head and eyes burning with fury. He knew that laugh… he could swear on his entire kingdom that he did…

“Mm?” And he placed his free hand on the basket’s contents, smile coy and almost playful, “You mean these…? I believe you still have not said a single word to make your request remotely polite…” Standing back to his full height, the stranger tilted his head and let those tremendous wings give a flutter, bringing the dust of the earth to plume surrounding them in a grand circle. “Ask politely and I may just give in to your request… say _please_ ”

His pride screamed at him then and there, _Don’t you dare do this._

But he needed them…

He needed this or…

Or…

Hands grit into tight fists and head dipped, exhaling a shaking breath, could he even make himself give in to something so humbling with a will as ironclad as his own.

“ _P…”_

And he paused, sputtering another breath, and knotted his brow in tight as his expression tightened with frustration and embarrassment amidst his fury to be made to ask something so simple in a state so weak.

“ _Please…”_

“No.”

His head lifted, eyes opening and recognition bleeding in through his chest, bubbling up and through to create a pit in his throat as he realized what he’d just been told.

Crown of horns lifted further, pitch hues meeting with scarlet, “What… do you mean… _no_ …”

“I mean… no. I stated I may consider your request, and I did-- but I did a terrible amount of work for these and I believe I’ll keep until I decide I’m no longer in need of them”

And his laugh began to bubble again in his throat again, slow at first… spying the slow-building disbelief, humiliation, and fury that painted its path across the King’s expression. It was there it clicked, as that laugh spilled over into being… though ashen in sound by comparison to _hers…_ it was so similar.

“You… _you…_ you are of her kin…” He hissed, clawing at the earth to drag himself nearer, and drove his nail into the earth to steady himself. His side screamed for him to stop, to take a moment to rest, to heal, to do anything but move forward after this crimson winged stranger.

The entity gave a few raspy chuffs of laughter with a hand to his chest only to let that grin come back into place, that too sharp smile, “I know not of whom you speak--”

“Liar!” He choked a groan and a strangled noise of pain, pushing at the ground with golden ooze soaked hands to stand on knees and push to his full height, staggering backward, nearly collapsing again in the process if not for the fact he then drove his nail into the earth to stop himself. “The Radiance… you are an entity of her bloodline… you both possess a plane of reality you rule over… you both share that damnable laugh--” He seethed, backing up with a staggering sway to his step, vision flickering before returning a shake of his head bringing himself back to full clarity--

Well, at least for a moment before the fuzzy lens that seemed to overtake everything returned with a fervor.

And the other chuckled, before curling a hand before himself, twirling it through the air and bowing graciously, flaring the hand far behind himself with a cross of his legs as though he were some grand showman.

“It is pleasing to know that my dear sister and I’s likeness is so recognizable”

A hiss left him, again staggering backward, stumbling to the side, having wrenched his blade from the earth, “I should have known you were on her side--”

It was only then, as the other rose from his bow, eyes seeming caught on something on the ground before they connected back with the Wyrm’s own pitch hues, that of which he didn’t so much as consider looking away from, though curiosity ate at him as to what the other could have seen on the forest floor-- did he notice the other’s smile dipped the faintest bit.

“I told you, I am on my own side… I seek to follow whatever amuses me most, and _you_ , for now, have my attention, my friend”

I am not...” He staggered backward, a shuddering breath leaving him, a dizziness tugging at his senses. Skies did it seem far more chill out here or was it just him. “… not your friend…”

His gaze shifted, turning away and moving to leave, his steps were unsteady, not quite shaky, but staggering at best at first until he could right himself with the assistance of his nail.

Passing beneath the branch he had come through he paused to glance back, eyes hazy and unfocused but looking to where the stranger stood… or at least… where he _had_ been standing. Looking now, all he could see were patchy handprints of sickly orange and gleaming white.

Why would that catch the other’s attention…

It wasn’t as though he had any hand in the infection that had once washed over the lands--

And it wasn’t as though he would have any hand in ridding him of this…

  
  


Getting back to the cavern… was one of the more difficult things he could ever remember doing, as far as his memory went back, he could never recall a pain like this inhibiting his motion-- and he damned himself for making this body as fragile as he had.

You should have made the shell thicker, something stronger, something grander--

But even in a state of illness, he had been able to corner that damned stranger and nearly strike him down.

Hands could barely hold the stalk of the tremendous leaf as he passed beneath the waterfall’s fringe, with the warmth of the sun to his back and the cool of night washing over the skies, he stumbled forward.

The blearing vision had taken near all detail from him on the way to the sanctuary, scrubbing all trees of their detail and leaving him to follow the path of his own ichor from but two days prior, night washing over the sky and bringing forth its slow dying glow.

_He had made it… he made it to his safe haven._

Soul flickered in his hand as one of the others lost grip on his nail and left it to clatter on the floor of the cave, the fire… he needed… to start the fire else he’d freeze…

_No one could find him here…_

Stumbling steps carried him forward, but the sluggish drag of his many legs connected to his tail only seemed to slow him down and draw his legs to drag themselves along. Knees quaked, and with a misplaced step, his right knee caved, breath rushing from him as the ground rushed up to meet him.

_He was safe…_

The icy chill of the cave floor felt almost divine against his shell, ragged breath falling from him as eyes fought to keep themselves half-lidded. One of his hands still flickered with Soul but mere centimeters from the edge of the firepit he had built this morning to be set ablaze this night… the white continued to flicker akin to a blinking signal… weaker… and weaker, at least it seemed as much as his vision drew hazy.

_He was…_

As eyes threatened to shut, they closed briefly, reopening but a moment to spy a silhouette standing beyond the fringe of the waterfall’s waters, the roar of his own ichor in his own shell rushing by drowning out all other noise with the deafening ring that had overtaken his senses from the moment he had hit the floor.

Eyes shut again…

Again they opened… the figure was nearer to the water’s edge.

Closed.

Open. And at last dull recognition sunk in as a slow stride carried the figure of a towering entity nearer toward him.

His head turned, as far as he could manage, which… wasn’t much… but it was enough to spy the blurry shape above him and the twin sets of scarlet lights staring down at him.

_Not him…_

And darkness, at last, overtook his senses, the Void beckoning him to come and stay.

_Not now…_


	4. Fever

In a way he supposed he could call it humorous… and in another sense something almost pitiful.

The roiling steam rolling off of him as he strode beneath the trickling edge of the waterfall’s furthest edge-- crimson eyes scaling the dark of the daylight illuminated cavern the little King had tucked himself away to within the dark of the night to keep himself protected and warm in times of slumber.

So, this was where the Wyrm had been hiding away to…

The hall of stone carved by the tremendous force of the very grounds beneath them splitting beneath them and melding the rubble beneath over the eons so that those that survived the split might be able to stride over its grounds.

It was impressive, that much he was willing to admit--

He expected no less from the Wyrm, to choose such a place to sequester himself away and find means to survive though the realms would demand his head on a platter for the Radiance to gaze upon and boast over its final presentation.

A chortle at such an image left him, low and ashen in sound, hissing even as the steam drew to burn away to little more than thin streams of pale mist compared to its state but seconds prior. Scarlet eyes scoured the room and again seemed to find mirth in the pitiful state of being the tremendous cavern could be called in comparison to such revelry as the little King was perhaps used to.

No draperies of fine linens--

No delicate shade drifting through the foliage to protect him from the sweltering daylight--

Nor would this sickly comparison of a shelter be home to any such suitable bed.

No, nothing of the sort, he hummed low, eyeing the woven mats piled to the far side of the craggy room, moss rounded into that of a replacement pillow to caress the crowned one’s head in his most vulnerable moments of rest.

And he could not but find both amusement to see the Wyrm so ready to step down from his grand throne of luxury to roughing it at but the few strikes that his elder sister had delivered in the brief encounter the Higher Being had delivered unto the other-- as well as a sense of intrigue as to what could drive the other entity to be so ready to struggle if it meant he was able to survive at the price of his sense of pride.

But what in true honesty had driven him to follow the other, to genuinely search for the Wyrm as he staggered forward in search of his personal sanctuary--

No bug, beast, or Higher Being had ever been able to get an upper hand on him-- not one to which could have likely struck him down, not so easily… nor from a being in a state so terribly worn down (no matter how driven to thrive as he seemed to be).

And something in him wondered, just what would the other be like in a genuine battle-- a fight where his senses and being were not marred by the ailment coursing through his being.

So, he admitted that he had wandered in search of the other, all for the sake of a fight that may never be. But all for the sake of a fight that may very genuinely be for the sake of the other’s so easily wounded pride.

He chortled low, striding forward to stare down at the collapsed form of the entity to which he so spoke of, with palm flickering of pale white light-- a kind he had only heard stories of, let alone wondered what perhaps to see it in true person might be like.

As much as he hated to admit it, even in such a vexingly weak state, the light… much like his sister’s own glow was something… hypnotic.

A tilt of his head and he hummed, something ashen sounding in his throat, crimson eyes drifted to the flickering white in the fallen King's palm. He supposed there was something about watching something so pristine bloom and die in the flickering seconds that came to pass. 

The spark-- 

The bloom-- 

And the quick-burning fade that consumed it whole… 

He supposed he could almost compare it to the fluttering consciousness of the pale being lain over the cold stone before him. 

Fragile in a sense… but in the same breath refusing so defiantly against all possibilities to simply give in and let that dark prevail over him. 

Amusing, again he chortled, and cocked his head to the side. 

It would be so easy to simply snuff out that light in this moment… to let it no longer burn or find another to beckon forward and give the pale serenity to which one could so effortlessly find themselves transfixed upon.

The sharp end of his foot lifted, placing its claws against the throat of the still other, watching that seemingly sleeping bug's face for any semblance of response and inky finding a sick sort of glee to build in his chest at the fact that it remained so peaceful. 

Even beneath the threat of imminent death… it seemed the flickering light had found itself so wounded, that the fever that had come thereafter had overtaken all senses of their self-defense. 

He pressed to the startlingly warm chitin of the other's throat, marveling at how ill he had let himself fall before he'd even begun to consider asking for assistance. Few ever even registered in his sense of warmth as something comparable to his own… but this, pressing faintly firmer, and feeling the strain of breath. 

It was _ pitiful. _

He gave a subtle flex of his claws, humming once more, low to himself.

It would be so  _ easy _ .

_ "I want you to find him, and I want you to kill him--" _

And the words rang through his shell, the singeing hiss of his lone sibling's voice snarling through memory to remind him of his task in this grand scheme of hers to see her ancient enemy at last wiped from the face of this plane.

_ "--and I want you to make him suffer" _

Crimson hues narrowed a moment… 

And the clawed foot drew back from the other's throat-- 

No.

He would not choose her side so long as his intrigue lay in this one's potential. No matter how fiery the fury that would come would be… 

He gave instead a shift to plant the same foot to the other's side, and gave a shove, rolling the being of such a fiery temper into his side and then with a second gentle push of his claws, the stranger he knew too much about was lain out flat on his back. 

No, he would see through the potential of combat with the only one capable of striking at him so readily even at his weakest.

No matter the wrath that would come from the Radiance herself-- much as he dreaded the very thought of her ever finding out. His pride for his capacity to hold to stealth and secrecy was far outmatched to his fear of what may come from the power-mad sister in lieu of her enemy's revival.

But first, he had to see to it that the other would survive the fever wracking his being.

And that-- as he looked over the other's form, spying the bandages that peeked through the pristine white fabric of his robes, shorn from the end of his robe by the looks of it, and yet the material seemed clean as the day it could have been made (the surface at least)… well,  _ that _ , thus far, was a mystery he has yet to unravel and see what he had to work with.

An exhale leaving him, he moved to the pale being's side and gave a roll of the eye as the other gave a lone pained groan in his subconscious state, and knelt beside him. "Perhaps you are more trouble than you are worth, little King" But wasted little time in sweeping arms beneath the other at the breadth of his back and the length of his tail. 

Standing as though the Higher Being in his arms bore no weight, he exhaled, and turned toward the woven mats the other had been using as his bed in the few days he had found himself stranded from his kingdom and all its luxuries. 

A few quick steps and the other was rather roughly, but… much as he loathed to admit it,  _ carefully _ , placed on the mats. The last thing he needed was something breaking or rupturing in a time as weak as this because he didn't know his own strength. 

Not until he could determine if this one was salvageable or not.

So to say, he was sure the other was still in that window of time where he very well could be saved from this wretched ailment chiding through his veins-- parting the robes about the other entity's abdomen to spy the golden amber tones saturating the makeshift bandages, it was the first time he felt doubt that this could perhaps be a point even be could remedy.

_ Dammit-- _

No, he still had to try, if there was one thing he knew, the infection of her dream realm could be burned away if he went about it the right way.

But if he didn't… then he lost a potential sparring partner to the coiling flames that might just catch alight from within and condone him to little more than a nightmare consumed husk.

The wound needed to be purged of her essence, and plastered with a medicine so acute in its effects that it may just rouse the other from this state before the day's end-- this much he knew. But, to set about it was the trickiest part; too much and the other Higher Being would go up in flame, too little and this may just spread to him by contact alone. 

So he took the moment to take a pause and trace eyes over the other's form, vermillion eyes dressing their shocking lights over the lithe figure and shifting between the visibly singed chitin to bandaged wounds. 

He had to say, lifting a claw to slice through the material of the tight wound bandages, peering beneath at the split and barely mended chitinous-- he had his work cut out for him just here alone. He couldn't help but wonder what lay in wait for the wound he had spied over the length of this one's tail.

But it was quick, clearing away the gold sopped fabric to bare the orange-tinged surface, and again steering back to eye the work lain out before him. 

Was it genuinely worth it--

To spite his sister, to spite the very thought that this one may lose this fight without his aid… 

All for the sake of a fight… 

No… 

But with a sigh, he leaned forward, it may not be worth it, but the fire that the other provided, the amusement he drew up in his rage, and the genuine will to lash out at but a harmless jest… that fire and the mirth it brought him, paired with the potential of this could be fight… 

_ That _ was worth it to him. 

The grind of a conjured vermillion mortar and pestle and the crackle of the flames of the red burning hearth at the heart of the cavernous structure about them were the only sounds that filled the air in the moments passing. 

It seemed the bundles of weeds he had spied on the other's back but two days prior had not been fruitless plants gathered in a feverish stupor, but in turn, the connection of the herbs that could very well save this little King from this damnable ailment.

With the assistance of the antiseptic root that weighted the basket he'd so  _ thoughtfully _ woven just for the purpose of their collection. 

He chuckled low to himself, he'd admit that had been childish, but amusing all the same.

Scraping the contents of the bowl onto the large slab of shale, and exhaling with a roll of his wrists and round of his head on his shoulders, the entity gave a low sigh-- surveying the medicine lain out beside him, he had the tools to start but he knew this would be messy… grotesque at best.

But it did little to stop him from lifting conjured cloth in one hand and readying the claws of his opposite hand, carefully moving to slice at the startlingly quick healing wound and hissing in disdain at the orange ooze that poured free.

At last, a soft wince marred the face of the sound sleeping King, paired with a soft noise of pain, crimson hues darted to still shut eyes and back to his work beneath quick working hands. 

Saturating the summoned rags with the spilling ooze, it was quick to be traded in for the next, discarded in a plume of crimson, and the next quickly cared for in the same manner until the third spoiled over to flood with a white gleaming essence over the familiar golden hue of ichor in its place. 

"Yes,  _ progress-- _ "

He barely thought on it, humming moreso in thought that one sound was so quickly cleared but would still need purging of any possible return of her grotesque infection.

And curling fingers of his hand not bearing the rag, he pressed it to the wound to catch another firmer wince from the pale being, only to watch it bloom into an agonized and tight expression, the tighter it grew the warmer his own hand drew.

A plume of crimson exhaled from jagged toothed mandibles, and eyes that had so briefly fallen shut pressed open to focus then on the wind that had caused this fever. Or so he would like to believe caused it--

With a rush of heat and a glittering flare of gleaming essence surrounding his hand, the golden light that surged through this wind hissed and seethed, curling away like parchment at the hearth's edge, only to shriek away in its own sense of agony as that heat drew brighter and sharper.

Unfortunately, so did the billowing scream of the unfortunate patient before him, and at last, bringing with it those pitch eyes to open in bleary and hurried glances about, only to land on the culprit of his agony.

Sharp breath hissed in, face marring itself with the tight sneer of losing and agony, "What are--" he moved to writhe, squirming as though he had the strength to get away from the one assisting him though he could not see it at that moment. "What are you  _ doing _ " 

Though he was in a state sorrier than that of some mongrel beast on its last legs, he still had that fire to try and command his answers out of another.

He could scarcely help the chuckle, but fought it to the best of his abilities, opposite hand flying to pin the other at the center of his chest so he couldn't dare sit up. "You will lay still lest you wish for death, she is not purged of you yet, should you writhe too much I may end up losing my focus and scorching you through--" 

A command ready voice for a command ready voice-- he believed it only felt suitable. 

It seemed it was even enough to draw the other to blink through a confused sour, as though to be himself ordered for his own well being was something so foreign to him that he may as well have been speaking the common tongue of bugs to him for the first time.

Though such a thought would be quite amusing to consider, what with how the very entity before him was the one to gift the language unto bugkind-- To speak tongues before him in his own domain of knowledge and freedom, my, such a thought was rather hilarious in the right light. 

Pitch hues darted to the hand burning his side, and spied that no flesh, nor shell burned away at the touch given, but seemed only to bring discomfort at the purging of the gleaming essence that threatened to overtake that pale light that had flickered in the other’s palm but moments before. 

And that was putting it in… relatively  _ favorable  _ terms for the damage he was doing unto the other. 

Raw energy under palm surged beneath his lack of focus and within the dark of those pitch guess he could swear fit a moment he spotted a spark of his darkest nightmares coming to the surface; a kingdom crumbling beneath scorching light, and its gilded white being burning up like caught grass at the fringe of an inferno, so quick naught a thing could have been done.

With it, the consumption of the many lives within, and he barely batted an eye at such a fear… he expected as much from a being such as this. A King robbed of his status, what else could this one fear, the lives lost-- those that worshipped him at his very feet… no pity surmounted in his chest, but it did mark one dangerous thing--

Too much power, far too quick-- 

It was quick to dull, but only by the faintest touch, enough to let that crimson gleam to the dark of the other's eyes fall back to perfect dark. 

Careful now,  _ careful… _ the last thing he wanted was for his sister to win this ageless war between the two. Not until he found it in himself to draw bored of this one-- amusement was rare, especially if this certain caliber that this little King produced. 

Perhaps then he'd carry out the orders he'd been given… 

Expression of the Wyrm remained taut, pulling in tighter as it pinched in and the other bore teeth as agony wrought its path through the Higher Being's form. 

But, he could feel it purging itself away, and in the quick burning seconds, it was gone-- her presence; in a sole scorching wave that washed through this wound, he could almost dear he could feel her looming over his shoulder but for a moment, seething that her grasp had weakened over him.

But now came for the worst of it. 

Eyes drifted to the tail swishing in twitching and curt jerking notions as the other fought to restrain the broiling wants to lash out or, at the very least, push him away and attempt to make a break for it. 

He managed to stifle the snort that very neatly fought its way free at the very thought of the feeble shove and the likely collapse that would come shortly after the attempted escape. 

With a roll of his claws, his eyes drifted back to the other's face, rather surprised the entity had not himself taken to spitting snarling hate for the agony he was putting him through, "You have fallen quite silent, my friend, nothing to say, mm?" 

His breath shook as it rolled from his chest, hands not lying limp on the mat's surface grasped delicately at the pasted robes (as though there were any other way the entity could grasp anything in this moment), moving to press them shut over the still untreated wound, as though his healing factor would by some glorious means kick in immediately with the infection still ravaging his system through the gory wound in his tail. 

No response to his taunting came, but a subtle murmur left his mandibles in a raspy and ragged whisper, "Why are you doing this" 

He gave no pause, instead starting down the other with partly lidded shocking crimson hues, and shifting attention to the bandages winding about the other's tail. Claws gave a second roll-- "Were you to fall under her control, who would be here to keep my day lively and filled with mirth, would you have me do ribbed of my lone source of amusement?" 

With that, the other entity's had turned with a weak loll to the side, but expression rife with that familiar fire. 

Ah, there it was-- 

"How many times must I tell you I refuse to be your plaything,  _ wretch _ " The venom spat even in the weakest of moments was nigh enough that should he have been a venomous creature, his bite alone would have been lethal in that strike alone. 

It was enough to draw a taunting chortle from him, the first finger of his right hand hooking its claw tip beneath the bandages and giving an effortless slice through the first quarter of the fabric. And in a flick, through the rest to let much of the material fall away like sheets of parchment from the edge of one's desk. 

Drifting but quick to slip to the mat's surface-- 

But it left the final layer stuck with no sign of color to tinge it, but signaling that he was correct in guessing that this wound was infected as well. 

" _ Wretch _ , my, have we truly grown so close as to earn nicknames, my friend?" 

There was a visible roll of the eyes from the other, something that almost mimicked that of a petulant child, but it was very much worthy of the response given, so much that he personally believed at least. 

Tentative attention drew to picking back the sticking layer of makeshift bandages and examining the damage that might lie beneath, only to watch as the layers that clung peeled away, the rim of golden hue that surrounded the wound that dared rear its head was far more prevalent than he had quite thought that it might have been. 

He near wanted to draw his face into a sneer, disgusted with the means by which the Radiance sought to take over this one’s being-- couldn’t she have some more means of tact, let alone some semblance of capacity to limit the grotesquity of the inflictions dealt?

Or was her hate so genuine for the entity… 

A slow breath as he worked to expose the wound, and he let his head cant to the side, one hand slipping beneath the shorter being’s tail as a curious thought struck him. He had seen the fight between the two (more of a one-sided beating than anything else), but it hadn’t been clear to him whether or not the nail had pierced all the way through or not. 

Lifting the last leafing sheet of fabric away, he could have hissed at the sight of the orange gleam that overtook the other’s shell. 

Lifting the tail to peer at the side to which the nail had pierced through originally, his expression remained cool and collected, though whatever part of him liked to think it held to pity wanted to furrow his brow and mutter something on the status of the Higher Being and her nature as that of a brute over that of a true god. 

It was no strain in the slightest to bite his tongue and withhold the words that wanted to slip free regarding his sister… it never was. He had long since learned to let such words slip were to draw her attention, and the last thing he could ever want was to draw it and in the process incur some manner of her self-deigned righteous wrath. 

But this… cleaning up her mess left behind after but a few direct strikes to another, no, this was not going to be fun on either party’s side. 

And he had the inkling that she might feel this grasp on this one shift should he purge it of the other. 

Did he really have the gall to defy her… 

To stand against the entity that loomed over his every move and controlled just what his own domain was marked as and what he should have control of, where the two lines of their own metaphorical kingdoms split, though he knew those lines blended well into one another. 

And the more he thought on it, the less he noticed his hands moving on their own, a swish through the air to call forth a surplus of neatly folded rags to as to catch the saturation soon to fall, and the opposite moving to split the fractured chitin and break the surface once more if only to release the likely damnable and painful pressure of this infection coursing through his system. 

He would not be controlled.

No longer… 

He was the Nightmare  _ King _ … that of legend, the very mention of his domain within the few circles that dared speak of him that of true taboo, and he would not let the greater known deity of the light and dream wash away the truth that he bore just as much power.

The entity of white shell before him had since spied him moving to act, and his breath drew to a perfect still, catching in his being and holding taut, seems he was as well just as unready for the consequences of this purging, be it whether he knew what was to come or not. 

Yes, he most certainly knew of the pain to come… 

But the could be repercussions to come for this insurgence… 

No, he alone knew of its truth.

But in a swift splitting crack through the already split shell, puncturing the thin layer of its skin attempting to heal over itself, and the forward surge from the injured, he could almost feel the pain wanting to leap forth, with a hand of the other’s four limbs clawing at the mats beneath him so as not to dig claws into the only one willing to help him when he needed it most. 

Again, that sick orange mess of infection burned its path free, scorching hot to the touch and yet not quite hot enough to burn anything on him, him, or any conjured material of his creation-- at least, not so long as it remained in his palms. 

Saturating what he could, and tossing it quick to be smoldered away in a plume of fiery scarlet hues as the golden hue began to overtake the fabric and catch it alight to burn it away-- but with it, he feared should it be fully consumed, or even the faintest bit overtaken by its ravenous destructive properties, it would be but another marker as to just what was happening here. 

Why ever would a rag saturated in infection born of her essence burn away-- why would there be infection in any entity aside from the lone being she had managed to strike through the tail of but days prior… 

And  _ why _ would the material wreak of her sibling’s presence… 

It only set it in his very core that he needed to act, and act quickly. 

Breath came in short haggard tearing pants for the Higher Being before him, it was almost pitiful, if he himself did not know the pain of such infection first hand-- had he not known the mercy of his sister, he would have been in a state far worse, and he knew it. 

But he had had no savior… his wounds had been something he’d had to purge of himself by his own hand… ah, but that had been many a vessel ago.

~~ You can still remember the pain to this day, do not pretend you are above him. ~~

Swift hands moved to soak all that poured free of the wound, watching with an odd sort of satisfaction as it slowly…  _ slowly _ fell away to a pristine white-- but he knew this was not the last of it, a lift of the other’s tail, burning away the used up rag, and the opposite end of the little King’s wound was slashed open for the remaining ooze to dribble free. 

And yet much faster, quick enough he feared he himself could not work swiftly enough, catching all before it could so much as touch the mats beneath him,  ~~ Leave no mess, she cannot track you if there is nothing left behind. ~~ One rag thrown to be swallowed up by flickering flames-- a second, a third, and yet a fourth-- 

Stars, he yet believed he made it to ten before at last, he spied white pouring through.

What was this sense of satisfaction at the fact that he had almost successfully removed every last inch of the grasp his sibling held over this one-- though it was all for the purpose of a fight that may very well never be, he was certain he could track this one down. 

He wouldn’t just let this one be until he knew just what he was made of--

What his very limits were-- 

And if he could perhaps beat even him at full strength-- 

All that remained… was to purge this wound of her presence, and slather the pair of the wounds with the salve he had ground and neatly set over the slate at his side. 

Allowing the tail to lower, with the assistance of a hand beneath it, the palm that supported it… did not leave beneath the wound… nor did the hand near overtop of the wound-- shifting to cover it as well without a glance to the other, instead focusing on recreating that same perfect purging energy he had made before. 

Not too little… 

Not too much… 

Again, that shallow but slow breath came back, ragged from the sheer will to hold silent through all this-- a will of pale ore, this one seemed to have. 

But everyone has their limit-- 

A quick build in heat, palms encompassing the wound to purge her essence, fiery magics surging through the grave-looking injury-- and the splitting howl that surged forth,  _ my _ , he quite believed he could hear the trees outside empty themselves of the life that nested in their branches, the flight-born beasts taking wing and flying to what they might have deemed safety. 

But seconds clicked by, the sheer will to try and remain still crumbling, and quickly, but gone in the next breath were the very last dregs of her presence-- swallowed whole by his own and swept away to the ether. 

He could have quite sworn as the other collapsed back to the handwoven mats, breath falling from him in ragged pants, his pride sparked with a certain hue of something he couldn’t quite name-- was it something the mortal bugs could have called supremacy over the other. To have this hand over him, this favor now had over him, to know that this one was now indebted to him…?

He supposed he could say as much, humming low to himself as he hefted the thin slate of shale and balanced it on the unoccupied edge of mat not taken by the other’s form. 

Now came the part of ensuring his work would not be undone by mundane illness… 

He had… saved him… 

Why. 

_ Why _ did he do this? 

He called it all a matter of seeking out amusement, but… pitch hues lolled to the side to observe the other, shifting his arm as the other moved to carefully apply a salve he himself had been ready to create, had he been given the roots to which he had needed. 

Maybe this could have been avoided-- 

Maybe if he had just listened to his advisors and simply stayed within the palace walls… none of this would have happened. 

The brush of the other’s lithe hand and the tingling sting of the antiseptic paste over his fingertips drew a sharp hiss whether he had intended it or not, an eye pinching shut, moving to sit up at the other’s gesture and shrugging away the upper section of his robes so as to bare the grave-looking wound at his side, his eyes were bleary with a certain sort of exhaustion, a fuzziness still partly wracking his being. 

He had to be dreaming all of this… 

Maybe this all was a dream, some obscure nightmare given unto him by the other to make him believe himself indebted to him. 

Because that… was the very last thing that he needed… 

To know this one would one day call upon that favor, and he could never say no to it without knowing his moments of weakness could be preyed upon and spread amongst his people so as to rob him of the peaceful kingdom he had, at last, managed to begin building. 

Exhaling as the other wound the bandages about his being, the exhaustion that wracked his body seemed to only weigh on him. 

If this was a dream, it was one of the worst and yet most lucid, vivid, and distinct he’d ever had-- 

So, he highly doubted this was a dream, as much as he wanted to say so. 

Brow furrowed, a growled huff and a hand that had been knotted, clawing into the woven mats beneath him lifted to smooth over the brow of his shell, higher toward the tines, and tilting his head back to let the hand slide back if only partly, then moving to lean himself to the nigh icy cavern wall the moment the other finished in fastening his bandages. 

The hand slipped back to rest on his brow… and slid lower to rest over his eyes, drawing a long and low sigh, watching as the still unnamed stranger set about winding conjured bandages that glimmered at the faintest of its fringes with crimson essence over the carefully salve painted wound-- (This one drew more than a hiss, something more of a staggered growl, the tail itself curling inward despite his best attempts to remain still.

But as cloth put pressure on the wound and drew more attention to that ache than the fading sting of the medicine painting his shell, he exhaled yet another sigh, hand sliding down his face and falling into his lap. 

“What do you want…”

“Mm?”

He did not lift his head, focusing instead on the task at hand.

“I know that you understood what I said, stranger, there must be more than entertainment that you seek from me… you know that I am a King, is it wealth you are seeking? Something so petty as that?” 

And the other chuckled in that low hissing, ashen way that just drove a blade beneath his shell, it was as though he knew how to just… dammit, there was no other way to say it, he just knew the perfect ways to  _ piss him off _ . Irk, ire, frustrate, none of it fit-- 

This one… dammit, he had to want something. 

Carefully fastening the last of the bandages and turning attention to the hearth to banish its flames with a soft curl of his wrist, the taller of the two rose to his full height, looming over him with information in mind that he refused to give for the future the Pale King knew would include him somewhere within its plans. 

“I believe we will get to that point when we quite get to that moment, my friend-- now… you are still dealing with quite the fever” Turning away he strode in languid and self-satisfied steps toward the exit, and turned back head to glance over his shoulder, red shell gleaming in the light that poured through the cracks in the cavern ceiling. “I suggest you find some manner of rest so as to ensure your natural healing process is capable of driving away this illness that lingers”

Brow furrowed he watched as the other stepped toward the left side of the cavern, blinking in realization, and watching him scoop up his makeshift umbrella, hoisting it to his shoulder and turning to face him, the grand leaf shadowing the crimson of his shell but bringing an unnatural light to burn from his eyes beneath that green cast through the leaf’s thin surface. 

“I believe we will be seeing each other… once you are healed, my friend, mm?”

He gave no room to respond, instead spinning round with profound grace to stride toward the fringes ot the waterfall and walk beneath it, taking with it his only means of keeping dry in leaving this place without being spotted by  _ her _ . 

A deep breath, deep as these bandages would allow, and deep as the ache of his abdomen would permit, and it spluttered from him in a single slow press, mother tongue of godly origin rolling off his tongue. 

_ “Bastard” _

That was a more fitting ‘ _ nickname’ _ than wretch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand I finally managed to figure out how to write this chapter, I am soooooo sorry it took forever, but I got slammed with work taking everything out of me, and I just kind of ended up procrastinating and sleeping all day whenever I had any time off. 
> 
> So, a month late, here's Chapter 4, thank you guys for being so patient


	5. Scavenging Truths

It wasn't long then… as much as he loathed to admit it, he could…  _ no _ , with a growl he scrubbed at his brow with a hand not carefully righting the gauze about his abdomen, he  _ needed _ to thank the other for the assistance given.

This was a debt he could not let stew over his name with no knowing for what the other could have planned as his so decided choice of favor in return. And so he gave a shake of his head, no, he wouldn’t make so much as an opportunity for this one to find means to delve claws into the very root of his life and ruin what he had only yet begun to build. 

No, not with the chance of his budding kingdom at stake… nor with the safety of his dear Root at stake… 

Hands found the edges of his robes and righted them, a free set of hands lifting to press at the ground beneath him, seated beside the crumbled hearth that he had resurrected to which he couldn’t help but pause and gaze upon. What was it about this new hearth he had burning of white flickering light and flame that did not quite burn the same as the other’s had? 

Why was it the other’s had him almost envious of its warmth… was it perhaps this treacherous cold that wrought the cavern surrounding, or was it perhaps just that he felt some semblance of yearning for that power that to which he did not have naturally. 

The power over flame and warmth-- where his domain held over pale light, it held no grasp over the pale glow of warmth that a fire may bring to the room. 

Could he call this some semblance of greed, to yearn for that sort of power-- 

Or was it something of a mortal facet to this body bleeding through beyond his own creation’s control, beyond his own entity’s inhabitance and its iron grasp over this vessel? Was it something beyond even his greatest attempts of control-- to try and reach for such power he knew he could never have, never control, nor ever dream of having such grasp on. 

Whatever it may be, something about him… hated it. 

This jealousy… this envy for another’s power that had such sway over him, minor as it was-- 

A growl left him, building a place in his throat, and brow furrowing deep across his shell’s helm, a hiss in his throat, barely there but strong enough to be something he alone could hear in its being. 

He held the power of which even the Higher Beings to which he had been once closest allies to had at last crumbled to their own jealousy and lashed out. 

The last thing he wanted, with such debt over his head-- was to lash out. 

And he snorted, at last pushing at the floor to lift his tail beneath himself, wincing at the sting of which it brought to the still-healing wound-- (his healing factor was, at last, taking its time to grasp this injury by its threads and weave it together piece by piece-- but the severity of it… it seemed even with  _ his _ strength, though drained of power as he was, he was almost as good as a mortal beneath these constraints.) But perhaps, if he were to lash out, that was exactly what the other wanted, some odd semblance of a fight-- some kind of means to sate a bloodlust. 

He shook his head, something he felt like he did often in such an ill amused and incredulous state, a crooked smirk cracking his poised expression, why did he find humor in such a thought. 

Was it because this familiar stranger was a sibling to that terrible old light? 

Such bloodlust must be hereditary, yes? 

He chuckled softly as he shifted and pushed to raise to his full height, a hand lifting to banish the pale fire beside him in a swish through the air-- something smooth and gentile in motion compared to the quick and sharp curl of the wrist that had cut out the crimson flames of before. 

No, Wyrm… think not on the crimson light… it will never be your power to hold. 

Stop thinking on it… jealous old prat-- 

You need not think on the flame, but on its caster… where perhaps the other being could be, there were some things he needed to know, one of them, for starters being a  _ name _ . 

All this time had gone by, days now, and he had yet to know his so-called saviour’s name. And yet, he was certain the other knew nigh everything about him that the Radiance herself knew of him, 

Which, much as he was rather certain on, was likely to be incorrect to a certain degree. 

And as much as a part of him wanted it to stay that way, another part of him ached dearly for his true self to be known, the pale light that understood the swathing dark, that once danced within the very fringes of the Void, and that knew its power… the truth of the  _ ancient enemy _ that the Radiance had made. 

Maybe it was something that bolstered his own pride, maybe it was just this itch that ran beneath the surface of his shell to know some false self existed in the mind of another. 

How utterly mortal of him, he supposed. 

A shake of his head and a forward step, rolling many claws to glide forward and he could feel the ache of the healing injuries scream at him to be still, but with a grit of his mandibles, grinding many sharp fangs together in a defiant drudging push forward, he staggered… stumbled then, and ground at the distance between him and the far fringes of the waterfall. 

This stranger… if it was the only thing he got from him, he would learn the other’s name.

A long and low exhale left him, expanding his chest far as it would go and caving it back in taut to its tightest curl, to stop and stand before the towering waterfall that swallowed the gaping entryway to the grand cavern. 

Pinching eyes shut and bracing for the ice to come, he let many legs carry him forward and brush his form forward against the falling mist of the coursing waters, but did not let its chill stop him.

Why did the bastard have to take the only means he had to get through the water’s edge. 

Quicker, he rushed through and beneath the pouring water, feeling its icy sting rob the breath from him, and pinched eyes shut, following a path only memory carried him on, hand darting quickly to the wall of the cavern’s maw. 

And he could feel it, next he knew, though he knew himself to be saturated through like a child’s beloved plush toy in a puddle, the glow of the world drew itself brighter and brighter still, burning through his tight pressed lids, and letting him draw pause as the ice, at last, washed the last of itself over him. 

Hands darted quick to scrub the pouring water from his eyes, wiping away the dripping rivulets and shaking his head once, and then twice to rid himself of the waters that threatened to slip between the tight pinched lids, and blind him but for moments longer. 

So, with a final downward wipe of a hand over his face’s shell, pitch hues opened and let the gleaming light of the world surrounding him pour in, the verdant scenery of the world around him washing a certain kind of revery through his being. 

The sun… though he knew the origin of its power, the source of its being, the fire that drove it, the very being that inspired its burning creation-- whatever you wanted to call it… hummed with something of a… dare he say  _ pleasant _ sort of warmth. 

He couldn’t help but wonder, did she perhaps believe him to be dead?

Or was it that without her burning light eating away at the very essence that coursed through his veins, that he was able to truly feel its glow and know the warmth that it drew upon this grand plane the two had battled over for the millennia they had known its existence. 

Saturated in the waters that had poured from the high overset waterfall, and shifting hands to set about wringing the fabrics of his robes, he hummed a long and low sigh-- drawing pause to turn his head from his focus on the task before him to let pitch hues fall shut and let the low but pleasant warmth of the glowing light above him, that of which was not his, wash over him and force away the chill that dared to try and sink through his shell beyond that of which his body dared betray him and bring the shake of its icy nature to course through his being. 

Stifling it, he exhaled a long and low breath, and focused if only what he could on the drawn warmth from the Higher Being’s source of power. 

It left him to almost chuckle at the similarity between the siblings, both with a power born of heat and warmth, what was it that drove the two to loathe him enough so to wish suffering upon him. 

But he supposed, thinking upon it, and pressing palms to the near dry but still deeply saturated fabric-- he couldn’t quite say the same of the nameless one, of the red shelled entity. 

This one… had saved him, despite what he felt had been some great desire to see through this could have been death, ah, but many desired to see him dead, this much he knew. What did it matter if a couple of gods akin to his own creation shared the same ideation? 

Much like many, they would just never get to carry it out… 

Even… 

He paused, furrowing his brow the faintest bit, as magic banished the faint dregs of water from the fabrics of his robes to save his personal image from looking quite like some minute drowned beast, or some child in their parent’s robes-- 

Even if perhaps this stranger had spent the great majority of the day saving him from some wretched plague coursing through his veins. There had to be some loathing behind his actions, some want to make him suffer further down the line-- he was born of her family’s nigh unstoppable and sacred blood, a sibling no less. 

A family she had wiped from the plane’s existence the moment they had proven less than useful to her-- by her own hand, no less. So he supposed, this last surviving family member had been one she had either deemed too dear to wipe from the planes… or someone far too valuable as a resource. 

A shift of his hands and the fabric flooded itself in misty bursts of the remaining waters-- its chill cool leaving his being, 

What, then… as he righted less than pressed and pristine robes, rumpled the faintest bit from wear and tear, he partly thought it would perhaps be easier to show up on his kingdom’s doorstep with new robes entirely conjured. 

But ah, the curse of being as prudent as he knew he could be-- 

He hadn’t had the nerve to step from his cavernous sanctuary without the robes to swathe him in their pale and subtle but luxuriant brush to his shell, all for the fear that some wandering bug from his beloved kingdom mayhaps come to see him without his adornments and run to tell of the sight. 

Come now, Wyrm, just how bound to your pride are you-- 

But with a shake of his head, he sighed, what if he was wrong about the red shelled one. 

What if he was not at all like his sibling, what if he were to prove himself as to be simply holding onto a grudge that had long since overstayed its bounds, and here he had simply run into that of a kind stranger that hid their work behind a vicious grin and a distant and cold mask… 

A chuckle left him, no restraint to bind it. 

No, even  _ he _ couldn’t convince himself of such a possibility-- 

But there were a few things he did need to know of this one. 

Why did he help him… 

What did he have the pleasure of calling his so-called saviour--

Why, by the dark of the night sky, save him if he knew his status with his sister-- 

And what honestly plagued him so dearly that he felt the question may spill from his lips at the very next chance he spied the other… 

What did he want of him-- 

But, ah-- though he felt the questions all could have simply run into one another, facets of themselves in a sense, and in another sense something distinct from one another. He knew there would be more to come of the conversation should he be able to find the other entity. 

All that mattered-- pushing back to his full height and running a hand in a dusting motion down now dried robes, expelled of all the icy waters that had once plagued them with their weight. 

All that mattered now… was finding him. 

It seemed then, when one did not want to be found, it was nigh impossible to find the one of which you dearly sought after. A deep and gruff sigh in his chest, and a fist lifted to prop his head on its breadth, all the morning wasted on the search for the red shelled other-- and here he had come up fruitless. 

The other’s scent had trailed through the air with the drifting weight of the very breeze itself, and at points, he would admit, fooled him into believing the other to be near-- he had to be, with a scent so clear and pristine, he had to be somewhere-- 

“My, you seem frustrated, my friend, a fruitless search, mm?” 

\--near…

Pivoting his head round, perched on the side of a smoothed over stone that he had chosen to rest on, his hand remained hanging in its curled fist, eyes narrowed at the figure that had manifested high above him in the faint fringes of crimson mist and flames that licked at the air. 

Hues shifted over the other dangling in the branches far above him as though he bore no weight, glancing him over as though he may perchance be some manner of illusion, before heaving a long and low sigh. 

“It should seem… you did not want to be found, my  _ friend _ ” 

To which the other seemed to tilt his head, chortling in that ashen manner to which seemed to hiss and bring the very air around him to rattle and shudder at the sound alone. 

“What ever should bring you to such a conclusion, my dear fellow--” 

He could not tell if the laughter was spurred on by the fact of which he was admitting that he had been fruitless in finding the other, or if it were brought on by the fact he had so  _ kindly _ referred to the other as his comrade of sorts. 

But one thing he knew for certain was the fact the other now sat-- err,  _ hovered _ in the air before him, akin to a weightless hallucination (or perhaps his mind had at last gotten to him and this truly was but an illusion (perhaps even that encounter to which the other had saved him had been but a plot as well to which-- no, Wyrm, come now, he saved you, there was no ploy-- calm thyself)). 

“The fact of the matter being that my frustrations have been spent on searching for your presence the entirety of this morning,  _ after _ you made off with my foliage umbrella-- good sir”

And that grin grew, “My, I’ve frustrated you, have I?”

“You would certainly know as to whether I were frustrated or not, wouldn’t you-- seems you have got a gift for invoking such ire from me even without your presence being near, stranger” His words huffed from him in a soft rush of taut breath in his chest, something quick but very much tight with the frustration ringing its path through his being. 

Again the other chuckled, softer now, and curled through the air like smoke on the breeze, rolling over from position hanging upside down to dangle and plant feet elegantly on the floor, coiling round and perching himself on the far end of the stone the Pale King himself had perched himself on. 

“You compliment me that I would have such sway over such a dear acquaintance of mine--”

“If I am such a  _ friend _ of yours, then why is it I am without your name,  _ dear fellow _ ” 

The grin that split the other’s face held that sharp edge to its glean, something nigh crystalline in its nature, so clear and sharp that if the other clicked his mandibles he felt the sheer edge of that grin mayhaps have given him a split in the shell of his fingertips had he reached out-- lifted the faintest bit at its furthest edges, as though his mirth at the moment could grow any more than it already had. 

“It is perchance that you never asked it of me, oh little king” 

A roll of his eyes met with that response, no will to restrain himself in that moment, “You mean to tell me, you’ve not the common sense to give your name to someone you intend to torment for days on end with your presence? My, why ever did I not think of such a solution” And with a huff of breath, his head found itself perched back on its fist with dark hues angled to eye the other from the corner of their vision. 

At last, a laugh, a genuine hissing bark of a laugh left the other, a hand lifting to his chest as though he had heard the most genuinely amusing piece of humor this side of the planes-- 

“You are far too easy to ire, my friend, you must see this--” He shook his head, the grin never fading, and let those crimson hues open from their pitch blackness, lids splitting open from the sides to unveil that sharp scarlet light tucked beneath-- turning their vicious lights on him with a sideways tilt of his head and perch of his head on a curled fist. 

“Is it so much perchance the reason not why you enjoy my company?  _ Mm _ ? Perhaps I should then take on a brighter faceted look at life, maybe then you might simply leave me  _ be _ ” Again there was that huff, rolling his eyes as though so deeply vexed by the other’s response, though he did himself draw a minor sense of humor from his words, and in a sense, he knew it to be true.

Even his dear Root told him he was far too quick to draw to such an irate state of being-- 

Ah, but such was to be expected of a king, was it not? 

Pale yet fiery will and a hand strong enough to act out just what the one behind it said he would do? He needed to show the fire here and there, it was in his nature-- what else was he to do. 

Alas, it seems even his attempt at spurning the other seemed to draw some semblance of mirth from him, that low hissed chortle-- barely there but still something he could catch on his breath. 

It was enough to earn a low gleaning glare from the royal, his pitch hues narrowing the faintest bit, what was it about him that drew such amusement from the other, was it just the fact that he was so easy to draw to ire? Was that it? Maybe he really should learn to draw a tighter hold on his temper if only to drive this one up the wall, or better yet, drive him away-- maybe he’d leave him be if he were to find a better grasp on his emotional constitution. 

A shake of his head and he sighed, “Or perhaps it should seem, you are amused by my could be attempts to be rid of you, stranger”

“Grimm--”

And he paused, head still planted on his fist before letting eyes open from place fallen shut in their mild pinch of frustration, shifting the darkest centers to meet with the brightest core of the scarlet hues. 

Had he… heard him right…?

“I beg your pardon…?”

“It’s Grimm…” 

Such a… genuine tone, a name… a true name, as he was simply known as the Wyrm or the Pale King, this red shelled other was known as… “Grimm… no title before it?” Perhaps he shouldn’t jest in the moment, prodding the other as the other did him for humor’s sake. 

And there was a hum, eyes falling faintly shut as he seemed to take the comment in stride, “And yet you comment on my ability to draw your ire when here you attempt the very same, little King--” His grin lilted upward, crooked at the upper right corner, and head lifted from its place perched on his bare curled fist to curl the same hand before his chest. “If you must know, I am the Nightmare King Grimm-- ruler over the plane of Nightmares, the embodiment therein--” 

Again those crimson hues fell back to half-lidded, opening from their place, fallen shut, and rolled round to meet back with pitch-black eyes, “Does that sate your need for a name then, mm? Stranger?”

It was his turn to snort, crossing a set of his arms as though he were the one righteous at this moment, “Stranger you call me when you have known me to be a King from the beginning, tell me your sibling has not told you of me in truthful face and I will tell you all you should ever need to know of me--” 

He was being snide about it, that much he would admit, but there was something about the fact the other’s tone in calling him a stranger as he had called him a stranger all these times, something about it that just-- now, Wyrm, come on, you’ve got to try and not let him draw you to such a state of frustration so easily. 

“Ah, then I suppose I will never be given your name per your own introduction, will I?” He chuckled soft in his chest, and a tilt of his head, crossing legs with an elegant lift and lilt of the limb over the other. “It is the truth that my sister has told me of you, but that she has given me all I would ever need to know? No, this is not the case, my friend-- aside from this, is it not a common courtesy to have one give their name after another gives their own? As per proper introduction’s sake?”

“Then what, perchance, is it that you know me as…” And he had to catch himself before the word slipped from him, trading out the word ‘stranger’ with a tentative testing of the other’s name in its place. “... _ Grimm _ ”

The other’s fronds of his cloak of wings gave a pleasing upward coil, curling inward toward his face, framing his shell akin to foliage for a dark and yet rare flora-- as though incredibly delighted to hear the name used by someone that was not using it in the worship of him or perhaps in fear of him. 

Or perhaps pleased to hear it used for the first time in the use of someone not attempting to use it against him, be it as some manner of threat or the likes-- 

He supposed the idea of giving out his name as such would be a frivolity when you were the sibling… nay, the  _ opposite _ to the Radiance-- to dreams personified herself. 

“What I should say I know you as… is the Pale Wyrm-- the moon to my… dear sister’s sun”

What had that pause been just then, had he intended it, or was this akin to a sibling’s childish plight with one another? Something he had never known and would never know, and yet-- knew the faintest bit that there was something more to this, something about it that itched beneath his shell. 

Something about their relationship was… wrong… 

He was not the expert on the connections between entities, that was far more something suited toward his beloved Root’s state of nature, but there were still things that he had picked up from his time spent in her company.

It was nothing he could idly hide without a soft hum to leave him, brow furrowing the crest of his shell the faintest bit. It seemed the expression, however, went ignored, as the other continued on as though there had been no falter to his words, nor a slight slip in the faintest. 

“What, might I then ask you, would you like to be known as--” And he gave a soft cant of his head, crimson eyes partly lidded, as though still far too pleased with himself to hear his own name spoken by another that was not the Radiance. 

Just how long had it been for the other to hear his own name spoken by another that it brought him into such a dwaal. 

It made him wonder… 

How alone had the other truly been to be so affected by but the utterance of his name? 

“Wyrm…? You seem so transfixed on something that of which I am not yet aware of, so much so that you have not yet answered my question. Is everything quite alright, my friend?”

His expression did not shift as the other tilted his head to the opposite side, much like a curious beast before something of its greatest curiosities, drawing the Wyrm to further want to furrow his brow, but steeling himself if only faintly from such an act. 

“Wyrm will work just fine… or if you should so choose… Pale King is a viable option as well” he lifted his head from its place on his fist to exhale long and slow, thinking long on the matter though he knew he should not let such a thing plague him. 

The other was just another Higher Being with problems that were not his own, he did not need to worry about such matters-- 

And yet-- 

The other had saved him, what good of a deed would it be for him to act upon if he did not attempt to remedy this in some way. What better means to thank the other for saving him from a death most tormented. 

“Ah, then I have options, mm?” He chuckled fondly, hissing and sharp in his chest, eyes growing back to their wide near-rounds, their too bright cores focused nigh entirely on the Pale King for such information given unto him. “I believe then, as you have mentioned, little King…  _ Pale King _ shall be what I call you, as she would like to call your name with such vulgar hate I should not see it fit to call it with an acquaintance’s warmth, yes?” 

He couldn’t say he was terribly surprised, watching the other run a hand over the curled fronds of the neck of his cloak of wings, righting them as though they were but feathers on the mane of a prized beast’s hide-- 

She had been at war with him for so long, trying to claim rule over the light, trying to claim rule over who deserved power over the little ones that roamed the plane, and now that he walked among them, and still knew her hate-- still knew her fire to burn the very path he walked, he supposed it was almost rather nice to have someone else speak his name… he supposed he could call it a name, without such venom. 

Was this perhaps a semblance of what the other felt then, this odd sense of pride in hearing his name spoken without hate?

He supposed he could see a bit of why the other entity felt such nigh dreamy comfort in it--

But for it to linger so long… even still in the faint fringes of his expression. Just how long had the other been loathed for it to hit quite as hard as it had and then to stay quite as long as it had. 

“You mentioned before… that you are the Nightmare King… so determined then, you are opposite to the Radiance, yes…? Is it not peculiar that her brother would be the surviving heir to such a great power, don’t you quite believe?”

And the smile at last faintly dimmed-- 

“I believe, my friend, that is a tale for another time--”

Pushing himself up from the place he had taken perched on the stone beside him, his wings fluttered in a sweeping brush in tow of their owner, standing back tall and leaving him to tuck the wings back tight about himself, almost like a living shield, gently grasping the edge of the outermost wing and pulling it taut before the hand itself too vanished away beneath the dark and downy surface of his wings. 

He’d struck a nerve, one he had not meant to strike, but it was a nerve no less-- 

“But why did you save me-- what is it you want of me-- why do you visit me so readily?” The questions fell in quick succession, tipping out one after the other as though he may not have the chance to ask them again, and knowing very well, by this one’s nature, that may just be the case. 

The expression had since taken on the lilt of nigh confusion, of mild desperation, but as well the tarnish of frustration and its gnashing inward tautness. 

He turned, with that elegant curl, and gave a gentleman’s bow, something more, now that he thought of it, of a showman’s bow. 

“I believe I should call this an end to our meeting for the day--” And with that he rose back to his daunting and towering full height, looming over the far shorter of the two. “I bid you farewell, my friend-- until we next meet, yes?”

Brow furrowed despite his best attempt to hold his expression cool and collected, and he gave a subtle nod. 

And with that the other gave a tight tug of his wings, pulling them tighter as though he were to vanish with the stick-thin way they pulled him in. In the next blink of the eye, he gave a twist, a curling spin, and then in the next split breath of a moment-- the curling flames that had coiled him from the ether and drawn him nearer from the place high above in the foliage above left him to vanish as though he were little more than mist. 

Leaving the King, in turn, with the trace of his scent and the touch of its cologne in the air, and the thought on just what nerve he could have just struck-- and whether it was wise for him to try and bring up that subject lest he came to know the other better… 

What was he thinking…  _ get to know the other better _ , pah!

This was a debt to be paid to the other, not a life sentence to servitude. 

_ Dammit. _

Mm… 

But…  _ still _ … 

The idea of leaving this to fester, even if it was nothing of his business, this was something that had long since been bothering the man, perhaps even eating away at him-- it may not settle a life debt brought on by purging a sickness from his being akin to a living and breathing cancerous entity taking over his very body-- 

He wasn’t quite sure whatever would quite meet the grounds of thanks for such a deed. 

But he knew he had to try something. 

And this… this was most definitely something before him to try his hand at sculpting toward a brighter light-- not perhaps an old and warm light… but perhaps a cool and pale one instead. 

There was trauma hidden beneath that well-poised shell of a mask, and it burned deep within those crimson fires in his sockets-- he may very well be an entity of tremendous power and danger, something far beyond what he should ever have been tampering with. Someone that lived and breathed the same air his mortal enemy did, the very same one that may just believe him to be dead at this moment. 

And the very same that had been betrayed by her own blood… 

The last of which she had spared… that much he knew… that much…  _ all _ entities of their kind that had lived as long as they had known the truth of what she had done… but none knew why… nor had they ever known there were survivors. 

He may hate the man for his prideful self-presentation and will to drive him up a wall for the sheer sake of amusement but-- there were things he could see that many could not, a King saw all things within his Kingdom, and this one… this…  _ Grimm _ … had just joined his ranks within his Kingdom. 

What his ranks were… he was uncertain… whether he could genuinely call him  _ welcome _ within its quaint walls as well. That itself was another question altogether. 

But one thing was for certain--

Exhaling long and slow, he pressed from his place seated on the smoothed over stone with a lower set of hands, body still aching terribly but… nowhere near quite as terribly as it had at the day’s beginning. 

Traveling back to the cavern, and standing before the gaping maw of the roaring waterfall, he spied the pale fringe of white fabric bowed over a pale hooked post-- something far sturdier than a parasol, and far longer lasting than a scavenged leaf, but nothing he had quite expected to be glimmering with familiar red essence and the pale glow of genuine pale ore. 

Slow, but carefully taking it into his hands-- as though it may just crumble away beneath his very touch, he let it settle, and squeezed it, tight…  _ tighter _ … and relented. 

It was real-- 

Looking to the foliage behind him, the other’s scent washed away by the rushing streams but knowing those scarlet hues loomed somewhere above in the pitch of the foliage and the night lit skies. 

Curling the gifted umbrella over his shoulder, and fanning it out wide, eyes peered through the sturdy but gauzy material, and swore for a moment he could catch glimpse of a lingering streak of stark red flitting high above in the branches. 

Yes, this marked one thing for certain, though his rank within the kingdom was something of a mystery in the moments standing… the fact of the Pale Law would stand true.

And Pale Law dictated… all within this Kingdom, ranked or not, were personally protected from harm to come by the highest authority. 

And as acting Highest Authority, he would be damned if this trauma came to a head because of  _ her _ presence. 

Now just came the grounds of convincing Grimm to come to the Kingdom for sake of safety-- pfsh, as though that would ever work without using himself as the center attraction and the main means to keep the bastard entertained throughout. 

He’d have to approach him tomorrow… passing beneath the cavern's curtain of falling waters, unbridled by their weight, he hummed low in his chest and twirled the gifted umbrella, snapping it shut on the other side and cast a hand with a mimicking flick of the wrist to beckon forth a roaring hearth from the kindling lying at the center of the floor. 

And in a single whirling crackle, it swept alight, pale as moonlight, and glittering like the stars, but… dare he say warmer. 

Yes… 

Tomorrow he would ask it of him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is a slower chapter, but I just got a new laptop I can take with me to work, so look forward to a lot more chapters coming out far faster than they were before-- :) 
> 
> Because the next chapter won't be quite so slow, heeheheheh


	6. Countenance of Light

It was scarce then, finding the other’s scent on much more than the gifted umbrella, and knowing when and what to do without having the other’s presence looming over his shoulder at all times. 

It had been an entire day of weaving, busying the twin sets of hands with replacing the damaged mats so as to ensure the time he was stuck out in the wilderness of this great and untouched expanse was at the very least comfortable-- stitching them together and drawing pause to hum long and low in his chest, brow furrowing. 

It had been a day since he had seen the other last, with the ache of healing dimming throughout his body, he feared he would not have many days left before the other would follow him back to his beloved kingdom, let alone back to his palace of which he had himself sculpted from the ground up. 

And yet he was still without the reason as to why the other wanted to follow him akin to a starved beast to a well-stocked caravan. 

And even then, without a reason as to why the other avoided him-- 

By this time of day, the leaf that he had once used as his shelter from the pouring waters would be seen held over the other’s head as he strutted beneath the water’s fringes and other would beckon him forth to spend the day out within the confines of the forest. 

And yet--

Here today, nothing… and the sun had almost set beyond the horizon-- 

Where could the other perhaps be?

Threading the last of his gathered fibers from the grounds outside thorough the thick gaps surrounding the edges of the mats, he hummed again to himself, something soft and almost somber, a melody he had once heard his dear Lady sing to herself as she idly tended to her personal hideaway in the far off gardens far yonder within the kingdom’s depths. 

Something gentle to calm himself, but, while he had hoped it would make him think of home, of the kingdom he had slaved away to try and build-- 

He could not think of much else but the confounding red shelled other that had taken the task upon himself to save him from the infernal old light. 

Had she learned of his wrongdoings against her, of his task in purging her essence from his being and tearing her from his being to salvage the Pale King and his eternal Kingdom in its budding youth-- 

Ah, there was no sense in worrying, he would not worry for you, you fool.

But it did little to quell the thoughts… 

Carefully tying off the end to the makeshift mattress’ framework, he pressed at the ground, rolling round to sit on his knees and pushed to his full height, though it wasn’t much compared to Grimm’s-- hmm, it still felt so odd knowing the other’s name in place of simply calling him… stranger. 

But it was something new he had learned of the other and it was invaluable information compared to what state he could have been in without it, or worse, with even less. 

Righting his robes and smoothing a hand over his helm, he exhaled long and smooth, nudging the still green mattress to the side, pressing it up against the wall, and turned attention toward the waterfall once again, for what he felt may have been one of the very last times that he might just pass through those waters. 

He hoped at least… 

Scooping the hooked handle of the sturdy conjured gift into a hand, he turned it round and pressed its lever to bring the neatly folded fabric of its structure out into a grand and arched shield to hold over his head-- 

Lifting it up, and striding forward, there was little to be done about the waters that drenched his tail and sucked the breath from him-- but, thankfully, so much would dry-- right now, what he needed to focus on was finding that blasted Nightmare King. 

The clatter of claws through the room echoed high and swift, or at least it sounded as though they moved so swiftly-- over the cold stone everything echoed so terribly, the last thing he could think to do was to slow himself for sake of secrecy if it meant the one that he was indebted to could perchance be endangered. 

Passing beneath the waters, all air pressed from him in a single rush as he expected it to, tail threatening to curl in tight as the water washed over it where the umbrella failed to shield him from its reach. 

And yet he pressed forward, giving a pause to flick the water from his tail, and walked forth into the brush surrounding the stony enclave and its grand and nigh divine flora that swallowed the blue-grey stone. 

Pitch eyes scouring the ground for any trace of overturned mulch, and finding no trace of anything a bug his size, nor bearing of his grace could have done, before turning attention about to the greenery of the forest encompassing. 

The sight of red, 

\--a glimpse of charcoal, 

\--a brush of white-- 

\--was nowhere to be seen. 

Even as his attention shifted higher, closing the umbrella and lowering it to set aside, tucked away within the confines of carefully enshrouding bushes, the other’s hovering figure could not be found. 

Where in blue skies and darkest nights could the bastard be hiding-- 

As he walked, he kept a hand steady to his side, careful to keep the pressure on it for fear that the occasional twinge may bring him to wince, and though he felt none, he remained steady in his attentions. 

Eyes again scanned the grounds, searching over where he had last seen the other, perched over the edge of the smooth stone to which he himself had taken the opposite end, and took pause to take in the presence of the other’s essence, exhaling long and slow as frustration threatened to settle in, but drew a moment to pause. 

No… breathe… 

This is what he’d want you to do-- 

The last thing you need right now is to lash out from anger… 

Drawing in a steadying breath, he exhaled it just as long and steady, slower if he were to correct himself on it, but from there all he could do was press open pitch hues and scour the grounds once more for a path to pick toward another familiar place to which they had last met and hope that perchance the other may just be lingering somewhere high above the ground or in the brush perched on an overgrown bench in a spot he had burned away the foliage and thistle to sit down as neatly and with as much leisure as he may choose to. 

Though as he walked to what he thought may be the next point to which the two may have been found, a safe place, he hummed to himself, that same song his dear Lady had once sung under her breath in times when she believed herself to be alone. 

Perhaps it was calming-- 

Perhaps it was just that in this moment it reminded him of home. 

Whatever the source of its reasoning for his want to hum it, he could not think to which the true source may very well be, but it seemed to be the only thing that followed him through the lonely forests over the sound of the fauna and many beasts that rustled in the far distance-- now so many that had been so tempted to attempt to overtake him and make him their meal, but too fearful of the blessed light that now began to return to him. 

He sighed, catching the scent of faint and yet still so freshly turned soil, eyes shifting to spy the towering trees that loomed high overhead with their pitch-black needles and the pungent aroma of the antiseptic root that had been buried beneath their roots lingering still on the overturned earth. 

White bark almost seemed to taunt him with a shade just the faintest bit greyer than the pristine white facial shell of the other god-- 

What was it about this place again that drew him to it, was it not that this place had been where they had first met, where the other had lingered high above him in the trees and gleaned down at him with that unearthly red stare of his?

Was this some manner of a test?

Had the other some plan in mind for him, as though he were some sort of fiend out to test his mettle when his back was turned-- or was he afraid that his sister may come in search of him now that his presence no longer lingered in her grasp. 

And he paused. 

Now that he thought about it… 

What if she was looking for both of them… 

For a brother to put an end to and a corpse that she may mock and perhaps shred its meat from its very shell. 

His brow furrowed, marring his smooth and cool expression with what he hated to admit was… worry. What if she had found him already and caught his own scent on the other Monarch-- no, she would not be so merciful as to leave him to a quick and silent death if it meant she could get her hands on the Pale King without him knowing her presence was near. 

No, her hate for him was far too great to give such mercy to one that showed him it. 

Exhaling slowly he shook his head, attempting to force the thoughts from his head. 

There was no need to worry for him, he was almost certainly fine-- if he couldn’t be heard screaming in some manner of agony or his scent in the air then it meant that he was almost, no--  _ more than certainly _ fine. 

He just needed to be found… 

Attention turned then to wander over the untouched pathways, catching something briefly that he hadn’t before, something subtle, but it was something that he hadn’t had in the air moments before. 

The subtle musk of amber and cologne-- and that hint of smoke… barely enough to catch the fringes of it but something indescribable, airy, and smooth about it as well. 

Grimm’s scent carried on the breeze… 

And strong enough he may have just been able to follow it. 

Eyes shut briefly and, much like a beast in the wild, he gave a moment to take in the scent, turning his head toward it and putting out a hand to place on the tree nearest him as he approached it, its overwhelming scent almost blocking out the other’s but not quite… still leaving just enough room for him to try and follow it. 

Or at least, he hoped as much. 

Pitch hues opened and he hummed in his chest, looking to the setting sun, and back to the direction the scent had come from, and let legs carry him forward-- many legs clattering over the mulch as he walked over the untouched pathways of the forest that many a merchant and beast had trodden down over the cycles. 

And he could say it was wavering for a moment, like smoke in the breeze-- but it was still something strong enough he could follow… stars, he almost felt silly doing as much, but there was some part of him that needed to make certain the one that had saved his life was… safe.

Pressing aside low hanging branches he continued through and into a familiar clearing, spying a subtle glint of red as moonlight poured through the overhanging branches and the setting sun, at last, died over the far hill behind the thick-set trees and the cresting mountain ridges. 

“It is not safe, you know, to be walking around so soon after such a serious amount of infection has been purged of the body. God or no, you must know the limits of your body, my friend”

Standing toward the far end of the clearing to which they had met last before the infection had been purged of his body, with back to the Wyrm, stood the other King. With his head tilted back, crimson eyes seemed to be caught on the skies as though deeply searching for something that mayhaps come wandering by-- perhaps a star or a glimpse of the moon high overhead. 

Again that subtle ire built beneath the surface of his helm’s shell, grinding against the inner wall of his brow as though it had the budding want to burst through with its ever boring heat. 

He was not a child-- 

Wyrm-- temper.

Gritting his jaw, he drew in a long breath, still clutching his side with one of his twin sets of hands, and exhaled just as long, if not slower. “You are increasingly more difficult to be found if you seek not to be, Grimm--” 

“Ah, but have you never heard of a game?”

A game…?

He blinked in confusion, whatever did he mean? 

“What, did you choose to hide away as though this were some manner of a child’s game? Hiding away such as this and sending me toward the task of seeking you out?”

And that chuckle returned to him in response-- 

His shoulders slackened with a nigh sort of disbelief, he had to be pulling his leg.

The other soon swiftly turned, chuckle building to that raspy laugh and the quick sway of a hand through the air as though it would completely settle his frustration at being played with like some giddy little, naive child on academy grounds. 

“I jest, I  _ jest _ , my friend--” He wasn’t quite sure if that made him angrier or if that quite quelled the fury that began to bubble up… hmm, a bit of both were he honest in it. Crimson hues rounded from the skies to draw on him, sharp as ever and burning with that terrifying yet hypnotic light that pulled him to stay transfixed in a sense that he felt perhaps all mortals could feel transfixed upon him… but a blink and the urge to linger and stare on was brushed away.

“I sought only to evade her attention for the day-- she is getting terribly close you see”

And for a moment he wondered just who he could be referring to--  _ she _ … and it clicked before he could even begin to think.  _ Ah _ … she was near, was she not? 

“But the sun has set, she would not come out if she knew an enemy were nearby--”

“She would if she believed you to be dead--”

He blinked, pausing-- nigh freezing as the realization hit him. The sun had been warm, not simply because he had been without the fire in his veins that was her infection, but because of her radiant glow shining upon the plane as her overwhelmed joy shone through that such a long-standing enemy could, at last, have been vanquished. 

Starlight glimmered overhead as his very own beacon of energy shimmered above, overtaking the sky as hers had lain itself to rest. 

“That means that… when you purged the infection from me--”

The other gave a soft nod, “She believes that you succumbed to your ailment, as mortals are want to do. In this body you have crafted for yourself, Pale King-- my friend, she believes you to be weaker, if not on the same level as the many humble bugs that walk this plane.” A moment shifted by as he canted his head to the side and drew the next second to chortle softly in his throat. “I suppose I should have placed that statement in the past tense--”

But he could not see what was quite so humorous about another believing him to be dead… be it the Radiance herself or not. 

Even then, he was uncertain, would he ever even truly die? Or would he simply just return to the source of his energy to recollect himself and begin the cycle anew… 

Ah, but that did not matter now-- 

What mattered--

“Then why is it that you risked yourself to save me…”

“Mm?”

The shorter of the pair stepped nearer, but not near enough to let his pale light shift beyond the shadowed edge of the canopy overhead and its cast over the ground. “Your entire bloodline… or at the very least the creators to which you knew to be your mother and father, as far as I was ever told… were wiped out by her hand when their backs had been turned.” His brow furrowed, leaning in as though he bore a grave secret, and hissed the next words with an upward glance to the skies, paranoia setting into his shell as the realization that he could very well be caught began to settle in. 

“You could very well follow the same fate if you get caught with me, why did you not explain yourself and simply be away--” He shook his head, furrowing his brow and marring his shell with a look that meshed the barriers between confusion and disbelief into a bleared unison. 

“Why did you save me--?”

The answer he got, he should have expected, but it was not one he was ever prepared for. 

“Because you give me something valuable that I have been without for a very long time… amusement. To me you are… I suppose you called yourself a  _ plaything _ at one point when we spoke once before… it is not the word I would use to describe you, but it is the word you have used to describe yourself” He drew pause, almost as though he expected the Wyrm to lash out and conjure up his nail, but… were he honest he wanted to save his Soul for the could be fight ahead… as much as his hands twitched for the weight of the weapon to fall into their grips now in this moment-- it was not the time. 

He strode round the shadowed edge of the forested clearing, ever nearer, not the slightest bit wary of the could be strike outward that the other might make against him in a spark of rage. 

“You are amusing to me, yes… but it is simply because the fire that you possess within you is so indomitable that you refused to die even with the weight of a Higher Being’s entire will oppressing your body’s every want to live on-- in that aspect, you are through and through the King you so say you are, my friend.” 

And with a curling wave of the hand, he turned toward the treeline, casting forth an image from the ether of a familiar sight, “Your Kingdom awaits you, my friend… it is best that you go before they begin to believe you have truly gone and died.” 

Before him was the image of his Kingdom, or at least his throne room sitting empty with the many followers that he had begun to amass waiting patiently as though he may return any moment. 

Something about the sight of it made the whole of his chest ache… 

He could only wonder how his beloved Root must feel as well. 

Brow unfurrowed from its taut expression to draw in with a different tightness, aching for the followers of those within his beloved cities. But he knew he could not go… not like this… he needed one more day, he needed--

The sound of fluttering wings soared overhead, and the pair snapped attention from the vision of the kingdom, banishing it away in a flick of the wrist and snapping crimson and pitch toward the starlit skies. 

Breath halted in the King’s chest, knowing the sound of those wings far too well-- 

“Tomorrow… meet me where you first saw me… before we first spoke. Where I was injured by your sibling. You state that you require my company until you get something from me, that of which you refuse to tell me what-- then I have no choice but to take you with me, so you leave no trail behind that she may follow”

A glance to the other as blinding light soared overhead and the pair stepped back from the shadows’ edge, and Grimm gave a nod, eyes unparting from the skies. 

“We leave for your kingdom tomorrow…”

A second nod, in turn, from the Pale King and he turned, shifting to dart through the trees but paused, catching wind of that wretched Higher Being’s scent as it passed through the air on swift breeze. She was too near to move-- 

And it felt like forever, holding his breath so long that his chest ached, before the scent drew weaker and the sound of wings faded into the distance. A slow exhale and he gave a final glance back to the other… nodding one last time, and set off for the cavern. 

He couldn’t help but notice… he’d never taken his eyes off the skies.

Morning came and went far sooner than expected, the night-- by the skies, could not come fast enough. And it was not as though he had anything to collect, more that he had to simply wait out the bleeding burn of the setting sun so as to catch any sight of her burning golden hue in the skies above descending if they should need to make a break for it. 

Creeping through the silvered verdant foliage of the night brushed plants, he exhaled long and slowly, gentle as he could, and again glanced toward the skies, own wings giving a nervous flicker though he knew he would be alright… he would be just… fine. 

Why did he feel so unsure about this? 

He had the energy to leap kilometers away, even with someone else in tow, even injured-- currently, the wounds no longer ached. Yes, they were still tender to a degree, but still healed enough to the point where he could move swiftly should he need to and they would not tear back open-- or so he hoped. 

Passing through the clearing, he would admit that he nearly collided with a tree on the opposite side as his eyes remained on the skies high above him, searching ever still for the blinding yellow light of the other, and curious as to why there was not even a sign of her. 

Would she have given up so easily on the search for his corpse if only after but a brief passing?

Something was wrong about this and he could feel it in his shell itching at him like the tip of a blade to the front of his neck. 

Many legs carried him through the tall brush and bushes, and around through the long pathway illuminated by the scattered ichor he had spilt but days before, scanning the area as he walked for any sign of the one whom very well could have sought to end him and her lone living relative. 

But again there was no sign of her-- 

Stars, why was he letting this bother him so--

And so he walked… silent, eyed glancing toward the skies, toward the white shimmering ground where his feet had carried him before, and drew pause to rub hands together as he walked, one set to another, as though staving off a chill, one he could not find the source of. 

He could recall the clearing he had last seen the Radiance being large, but the one to which he had been wounded so gravely, he did not remember it being quite so expansive-- last he recalled there had been trees that lined the back wall, and… not… scorch marks over the height of the stony mountain face that he had been backed to before--

The moment he spied it, his head nearly spun with the sheer strength of the roiling essence that poured through this place-- and with it, the smell of something profoundly mortal. 

Spilled blood. 

He could spy the golden light then, of spilled ichor from what he could only connect the dots to be that of the Radiance’s, but as his eyes trailed, he spied it in far less compared to the crimson sprayed over the same wall the same pristine ichor that had left him painted over. 

No… 

No, had she found him, had he been too late? Was he-- 

It was faint but he had heard it.

“ _ Wyrm _ …”

His head snapped round to the broken rubble of fallen tree and shattered stone of what had once been a cliff’s face-- there peeking from the edge of the fallen stone that pinned the figure beneath, stuck out a familiar arm and the tattered fringe of what he could recognize by color alone to be wings. 

“ _ Grimm! _ ” Breath rushed from him in a hiss as the word left him, body moving before he could think, the urge to save another in need of any sort of assistance far too great for him to ignore. 

Nigh immediately, hands moved to push at the tree with incredible strength, though he was of mortal size, did not mean he had lost the entirety of his power from when he had been tremendous in stature. Conjuring then one of his pure and pristine pale nails the wedged stone was quick to fall away as he jammed the nail’s end into the crevices and wedged it down hard as his strength would allow. 

All it came to was repeating it, tossing away the largest of the stone with the assistance of the nail to heft it higher-- and wedging his once clean and unroughened hands into the fray of it to tear at the broken rock and throw it aside, until he could hear the other’s strained breathing through it, and dug into the rubble with clawing hands to paw it away in sweeping motions. 

The first thing he could tell, Grimm was alive, and he thanked the stars that the other did not have the misfortune to die at her hand… but by the second thing he noticed, the terrible wound in his abdomen and the many holy burns that littered his form, this battle as was evident from the many gashing wounds that rained over among the many burns-- had been almost entirely one-sided. 

“ _ Wyrm… you must… leave… _ ”

He shook his head, hearing the other’s raspy voice draw on in a pained struggle, crimson hues barely managing to stay open through the obvious agony he seemed to be in. He sensed no essence in this attack… no, she had no intention of taking him over or leaving him as a husk to do her bidding, this had been an attack to try and wipe him from the face of this very planet. 

“I am not leaving until I get you out of this rubble, you are coming with me, there are healers there that can help to mend this--”

Grimm in turn shook his own head, almost seeming frantic, a hand straining to lift and clawing through the air to grasp feebly in a knotted and tight but weak hold at the other’s robes, lolling his head round with a shuddering breath. “ _ You don’t… have time _ …” 

In turn, the Pale King blinked, furrowing his brow and leaning in, putting a hand to the other’s knotted at the chest of his robes and losing strength fast. “What do you mean, I don’t have time-- she fled--”

“ _ She’s… still h-here _ ”

And with the final words to slip from him, the Nightmare King’s eyes drew dark in his head for but a split moment, dimming as he lost consciousness and eyes fell shut. Ice rained its path down the back of the Wyrm’s neck, wanting so badly to swallow the sudden knot in his throat, hearing the trees behind him… the very same that had blocked an alcove of stone-- rustle ever so gently. 

_ Why had he not noticed it before… _

“ _ There you are… _ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the next chapter is posted-- told you guys with the new laptop these chapters would be coming out way faster
> 
> This next one though, it may be a little slower for me to get out and I apologize if it is
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading
> 
> BTW, someone mentioned in comments that the Pale King did not give his name, and I wanted to say, I have a name planned for him, but it's more something the two are gonna discuss and agree on waaaay later so-- heeheh, just wait a little bit, hon


	7. Light's Fury

He could say that this didn’t bother him-- 

To see the other in such a state, and know that the entity lying in the rubble of the caved-in cliff’s face that had been brought so low by someone that he had at one point trusted with his very life-- 

But to remember that this very same bug had saved him from this offender’s ideal plan for him; to suffer through an aching and broiling death that could have swallowed him whole and left him to rot as little more than a consciousness trapped within the infection bloated husk of who he had once been. 

To remember the kindness of it… whether the other had wanted something of it or not… 

It sparked something in him… 

It was a fire that burned deep in his chest, something deep and roiling, low and yet in the same breath something that could not be quenched by the idle passing of time in knowing that the one behind Grimm’s agony would receive their just deserved karma. 

No.

This was something that had sparked a raging inferno that overpowered the icy fear that burned in his gut, something that wracked him through akin to that of a paralyzing illness. 

Exhaling a breath that drew with it all hesitation, he turned round with a steely gaze that met with shocking gold, glimmering and unholy light to the true pitch of the void within that of the pale form before the towering other. 

A nail found its way into his hand, and legs carried him forward, slashing it through the air and to the right side, a grand gesture of challenge toward the goddess, without so much as speaking a word. 

She was not worthy of his voice after what she had done to her lone blood relative-- 

And she laughed, “You are still wounded, and yet you quite believe you have got the will to outdo my own in the act of combat? Did that fever I cast upon you rob you of your senses, Wyrm?” Puffing her chest out with pride beyond what she deserved, and looming forward, burning brighter with light as she cast forth a wall of nails to shatter the trees blocking her path between her and the Pale King. 

A wave of nails manifested in a curl of a free hand and he did not so much as blink at the shattering fall of the pine, standing firm, if not stepping nearer, feeling himself broil over with hate but keep an icy sort of cool through it all. 

Her eyes narrowed-- why was he not backing down, he could practically hear it in her head. 

He wanted to ask himself the same question, and yet… he himself did not know. 

All he knew-- 

\--is that he wanted revenge… 

Not for himself. 

No, but for a brother that had not earned such suffering, no matter the treachery he could never cast such pain upon another. But her… she was not like the others he knew. She was not mortal… she was not afraid of death. 

And she would die by his hand this day if he saw to his will. 

A fiery wave of nails conjured from the ether to fire at him, a wave of her wings calling them forth, and his own form dove aside with agile speed, bringing with it the wave of pale ore nails and colliding with the floor of hard stone to roll and quickly collect himself back to his feet in the blink of the eye with a flare of his wings on high through the slits of his robes. 

A hiss high in his throat, he clenched his fist about the nail in his hand, taut enough to feel his shell creak about it-- he cast forth his own hand, firing two nails forward of the five conjured, and watching the Radiance move to idly sidestep the shot, only to collide with the three then fired the moment after-- as though she had not expected him to have the power to so much as let loose the attack, her eyes drew wide, and then narrowed to dangerous slits. 

Razored edge of his own nail lashed out as he charged forward, slashing for the other with bright white light, watching as she swings her form back, seeming to wait for him to tire himself out, but frowning in confusion the longer the King seemed to last on through the act of defiance despite her great infection ravaging his form but only days before. 

A left slash, then back to the right, no purchase as she backed away, blinking out of existence in a flash of gold and a fall of perfect feathers from the grand wings of the other Higher Being. 

And quick as it had happened, he spun round and lashed a hand out, watching as she swung both wings forward in a lashing wave, sending forth a wave of scorching light, only to be blocked by a brilliant wall of absolute pale energy. 

Another hand shot forward, ripping upward, and from the ground, focusing as heavily as he could, he could feel it on the very tip of fingertips yearning to reach out-- and yet just so far outside of his reach. 

Come on, connect with it already-- 

Nothing to his desired effect shot from the earth, in its place a bolt of white light shot forth and scorched the fringe of the Radiance’s wing, causing a sharp hiss from the Higher Being and drawing her attention to the damage, and back to the offender. 

Back her wings flared out wide, calling forth rays of golden light to fire from the nothingness and slash out through the air, moving to cut through him at the first contact they could make-- but never being given such a chance as he too blinked out of reality for but a moment. 

Plane of pale light glinted about him, his being darting through it as he shot forward, wings carrying him up from the ground and up through the air, higher--  _ higher  _ and higher still, until he hung above the other’s form, searching round for him in darting tears of the head back and forth, before a rift tore through the air to let him fall back through the realms into the mortal plane and plummet through the air with nail drawn back betwixt two hands.

Her form spun round in shock, eyes shooting wide as the nail drove through the air and into the feathery fluff of her torso to cleave deep into her shoulder-- drawing forth a howl of agony in turn from the goddess. 

Pride rang high and true through the King’s body, intoxicating enough to almost draw himself drunk on it-- but there was no time for that, finding no time to leap back before he was struck back with a swat of the other’s wing, sailing through the air, and slamming into the ground to bounce flap wings in a mighty pump to right himself before the second bounce could carry him further. 

Rounding in the air he rolled through the sailing strike dealt and let flitting wings hold him in the air, an unholy shriek leaving him in that next moment-- the kind that drew the very stone of the mountain faces to want to crumble had they not already been splintered by the other’s onslaught against her only brother. 

Rage broiled higher, and higher still-- the strike drawing him to wrench an arm high through the air again, and with it, black energy glimpsed through the white of the righteous light that splintered the earth and scorched the goddess. 

_ Almost-- _

Again, he tore a hand through the air, slashing to the right, bringing a wave of nails to slash through the air, countless blades manifesting to slash at the other and barely miss her form as she shot forward to dodge them. 

Opposite hand mirrored the shredding claw through the air, bringing an echoed wave of the very same weapons to shoot through the air and scarcely avoid cleaving into the other-- two of the wall of weapons slashing into her form, and the goddess snarled in both fury and to mask the pain of the act done unto her. 

Again her wings fanned back high, and drove forward to call forth a wave of divine blades to fire toward him, once, and then twice-- missing the first time, and as he dove for the second wave, managing to slash the edge of his tail deeply enough that his very being curled in as his gut clenched from the sheer will needed not to be ill at the sheer amount of pain that had shot through his form. 

No-- he wouldn’t show weakness, not now-- 

Not in front of her… not ever. 

He refused to let it stop him, no matter how badly he found himself to be injured, he would not stop until she was dead-- for this, she deserved only that. 

And though he could hear her triumphant laughter cackle through the air, elated to hear her enemy grunt in pain, he took the moment to spin around and hiss before grinning something akin to a bastard’s smile, and with both hands to a single set drug them in clawing tears up through the air as though wrenching some item of tremendous weight up and through the air to break the earth. 

And as the very earth beneath the two of them began to tremor, the goddess looked about in sharp darting glances of shock and confusion, searching for the source and rearing back wings to conjure forth her newest attack, only for the ground to splinter with a wave of lashing blackness that struck out and swiped at the other with terrible strikes of impossible strength, curling to latch onto her if only to hold her in place. 

And with an unholy shriek of her own, fear finally began to settle into place on the other’s face, wings faltering and a pained cry leaving her as the ruined attack sailed forward and scorched the Pale King’s shell with a halfhearted heat, barely something to singe his robes, but enough to burn the fabric and bring his body to ache for some manner of solace. 

Pain wracked his form, but his concentration remained solid, eyes pinching shut for but a moment as the other struck back the lashing tendrils of pure void-- the blackness snapping at her in striking swings and drawing an agonized howl with the loud snap it drew from the other’s side, sounding almost as though it had broken the shell beneath the many layers of feathers and fluff. 

It was then that he saw it, the turn-- the dart and frantic flap of the wings with a side glance to him before she wrenched what little of her form was in the grasp of the blackness and struggled free to stumble through the air and as earnestly as he could state it to be-- flee. 

The tendrils lashed, demanding purchase and the offender turned to dodge, swerving through the air as though she were fleeing for her life, as she very well should have been doing from the beginning. 

With widespread wings, she gave lashing blasts of blinding light to fire down, enough to cause the King to lose focus enough to find means to dodge as the tendrils destabilized and shuddered, the pillars of light striking down in raining thunderstrikes of gold that tore through the air and splintered the earth in molten bursts of light. 

And though he tried to dive aside-- he could feel the molten strike of one scorch down his right side and burn the right side of his being, had he not had the wound there already healed it would have been cauterized shut by the sheer heat of it. 

He howled in pain, but when he expected the next attack to strike down-- none came. 

What?

Where had she--

Eyes opened and turned to the skies to spy the pinprick form of the goddess in question sailing into the air as quickly as her wings would carry her, driven by fear it seemed even the Radiance had a weakness and the Pale King had found it. 

The void.

He breathed haggard and rough tearing breaths, exhaling a long and shaky breath, and drew a hand to press to the burn laden side, using the energy of pure Soul to run the palm down the scorched side and smooth over the wound-- the robe on his right side tattered by the sheer heat of the attack that had just struck him. 

Eyes never left the bright spot of the Radiance’s form in the night sky, and his many knees threatened to buckle as the shock of adrenaline and the battle finally began to wear off the moment her form finally flew out of sight. 

But he couldn’t give in now. 

No. 

He pushed to try and move forward, feeling his weight threaten to force the many legs to give beneath him for a second time.

_ No! _

Come  _ on _ , Wyrm-- you can do this. 

Alas, his form collapsed to the ground, chest heaving as he let energy collect throughout his being and rush over his form to heal the worst of the damage, if only to bring himself to force himself back to his feet. Collecting a branch from the shattered trees that had fallen in the Radiance’s show of strength and attempt to terrify him, he used it as means to force himself to his near full height and continued forward. 

Staggering steps carried him, the pain of new burns and new wounds aching through him, body screaming for a little more energy to heal itself, but he knew he needed to save what else he had left-- 

He needed to get home… needed to get back to the palace… 

He needed… to save Grimm… 

Nearly collapsing at the other’s side, he could feel the sheer ache threaten to overwhelm him, the burns seeming unholy in their nature though he knew they would simply peel away with time-- all wounds healed with this body if they did not outright kill him. Or so he believed as much-- it hadn’t quite failed him yet, in all the battles he had since faced. 

Hands pushed at the ground and carried him forward, scorched elbow meeting with the ground and drawing a hiss from him but did little to stop him as he pulled himself up the mound of rubble to latch onto the unconscious form of the towering Nightmare King. 

He wanted… desperately… to wake the other and tell him the story of the battle, the good news, that he had driven her off by the sheer force of his abilities with his bond to the Void-- the pact he had made so as to best know the capacity of the resources of the Kingdom he had built. As well as to call upon its capacity the day he should need it for the sake of his people and their safety… 

He wanted to see the other’s expression and let him know that he was safe from the other for the time being… but no matter how he moved to try and shake him, or call his name to try and make him stir… the other god would not stir. 

Was he even still alive…?

Pressing head to his bloodied chest, he could hear it… weak but still there… a heartbeat. 

He had no time to act on frivolities and call upon such joyous nature when the other was in such dire straits, all he could do now was get them to some manner of safety and drag them to the closest point to which the other could be healed and tended to before the worst could come to happen. 

The salvation of a life for the salvation of a life--

He supposed it paid off a debt well enough… 

With arms carefully lacing around the other’s shoulders and pulling him up from the rubble, he pulled him up and hugged him nearer-- careful as he could be to not let him simply slump forward and topple over, but not to simply just lie there and make the process of bringing him along with him any more difficult. 

A whirling white light began to encompass the pair, slowly at first, like rising mist from the surface of a lakefront on a cold winter’s day but something far too warm for it to freeze-- fogging over and encircling the pair before congealing into thin strands that spun round them, faster and faster-- 

Until as quick as they spun, the white light encapsulated the two, sapping the King of all energy he could feel inhabited his being, but pulling them through the plane’s very fabric to manifest within the grounds of a very familiar room. 

At least to the Pale King, it was familiar. 

The throne room chattered with shocked and awe-stricken voices as the ball of light manifested and in the next breath the light fell away to bare the forms of the bloodied gods, the two crumpled in a heap on the ground-- their beloved King returned! But as the crowd began to realize the state to which he had been left in, horror began to flood their many voices.

His trusted knights raced near as the King’s arms began to buckle, carefully lowering the other’s form to the ground, he exhaled long and slow-- feeling his own form begin to buckle as the darkness ate at the fringes of his vision.

“Sire! You’re injured, let us take you to the infirmary”

“ _ No-- _ This is an  _ order _ …” His voice wavered, haggard and shuddering as he shook from the sheer strain of trying to keep conscious, pushing at the ground to keep himself from meeting with the cool floor and embracing its comfort as the means to finally know rest and heal. “You are to take this one and have him healed… I will be fine… he is dying-- go... “

The guards seemed to fumble, blinking and looking between each other as though uncertain what to do with the towering bug their King had manifested with, “ _ Now _ !” And they jumped in surprise, unused to the sharp snap of a command from the Pale King being so booming, even in such a state of injury. 

The court members that had a part in his infirmary flocked forward, moving to take up the wounded form of their unfamiliar patient, by order from their King, and carefully hefted him from the ground. 

Yes… 

That was all he needed to see-- 

Watching as they carried Grimm from the room with the utmost care, the blackness flickered through his vision, and he faltered, tipping forward, and the dark consuming him before the floor could so much as greet him. 

The last words he heard were a muffled and quick fading cry of his nearest guard, “ _ Your majesty _ !”

It did not matter… 

He… did not matter… 

All that mattered was that Grimm was… safe. 

Weight… was the first thing he registered-- something weighty and grand draped over his body, with the next thing that came back to him to be touch. Whatever it was lay over him was silken to the touch… smooth and rather divinely so-- 

Exhaling a shaking breath, eyes pressed open, blinking back the harsh and sharp light that poured in, a hand lifting and almost seeming to will it to dim itself, the brilliance of it though pale and white cast its light to the side if only for its wielder. 

What…?

He was… the only way for that to be possible would be for him to be home… within palace walls. 

Blinking through the haze that weighed over him, a hand idly fidgetting with the edge of the fabric of the comforter draped over him, thumb running back and forth over its material, and staring upward into the intricate seal sewn into the canopy over his head as it came into clarity. 

Hands shifted, and the sound of feet shifted over the tile beyond the foot of his bed, but not quite moving until he attempted to try and push himself up from the surface of the bed he had been carried to and carefully tucked beneath the surface of its blankets. 

“Sire! You awake at last!” A voice chirped, elation rich in its tone. 

“You mustn’t move, you are still far too injured to put such stress on yourself--!” Another almost seemed to beg of him, and he recognized the two to be two of his most trusted Pale Court members, the two that had volunteered themselves as his personal attendants. 

At first, he had been terribly suspicious, yes-- he still was at the worst of times, but what could he say with a past such as his. One rushed to his side and placed a hand on his unwounded side in an attempt to beckon him to lie back down, but he paused-- not quite willing to listen to another’s commands. 

If he was home… truly home… then he needed to ask.

“What of the one I brought with me…” 

“Your Majesty?” The attendant seemed confused to hear him ask such a question, knowing him originally to be concerned with his kingdom and the self and seldom else. 

“The Higher Being with the shell of crimson and charcoal wings-- the one I brought with me on my return… tell me…” His haze shifted to the side, meeting with his attendant’s and seeming to almost make them want to shrink back from the surprise at the sheer fact that he had made direct eye contact with but a common blooded insect such as them. “Is he still of this world, or has his condition gotten the better of him”

His voice was soft, a mild exhaustion washed over him from the sheer lack of energy that encompassed him, the very fact that his levels of Soul had not returned quite yet told him how far he had gone from the palace grounds, how much energy he had wasted on the battle with the Radiance, and the sheer amount of power used in getting himself and the other to the palace grounds. 

It was not something he would brag about, but it was most definitely something he could say that he would remember for some time to come-- if not for the fact of the state he had been left in, then perhaps for the sheer magnitude of the feat he had pulled, fighting back the Radiance alone was well worth the place in his memory if nothing else. 

His attendant stumbled a moment for words, glancing aside to the other attendant and fidgeting with his hands, “They have not yet awoken, your majes--”

Before the other could so much as finish the honorifics to the dreadful sentence that had slipped from their being, the doors to the King’s chambers creaked open with a court member stumbling in with a certain frantic air about their person-- glancing about the room, and relief flooding their face the moment they spied the Pale King pushing himself onto his elbows. 

“Your majesty! The one you brought with you, he has awoken, but he is attempting to escape from his quarters, and will not let the infirmary attendants lay hand on him now that he has awoken--” The words that left them were frantic, breathless and hands flailed through the air with an urgency, as though the Wyrm would have the answer to this situation in his hands though he himself was still in a state beyond assistance. 

As though he would let that stop him-- 

Pushing at the bed, his attendants gave desperate cries and moved to try and press him back into the bed, only to hear a quick and short-tempered bark of “Do not touch me--” The pair quickly pulled back hands, even stepping back as though they themselves had been burned, nigh fearful of what may come should they disobey-- that much he could feel in his shell echoing off of them. 

His breath wanted to shake in his chest from the strain of pushing himself up, and eyes shut, near threatening to pinch shut, but he refused to let them-- simply pausing, he pushed again at the bed, slowly rolling up to sit up, freeing his wings from beneath him and feeling them flicker from beneath him.

Hand shifted to the side scorched by the blast dealt by the Radiance, and he could still feel the resistance of the shell wanting to cling to the still forming shell beneath awaiting to replace it. He could not simply press it away to slough off these remains to a wound, not quite yet, and even then, it seemed the worst of it had been bandaged tightly with salve slathered liberally over it-- the lightest of it that had healed and scarred over already left to the open air. 

He really  _ was _ low on energy, he would have already had this taken off and a clean and markless, unmarred shell then seen to be revealed from beneath the terrible mess made by the attack had he any sort of spare Soul in his system to carry him on. 

He wasn’t even certain he had enough to keep himself going long enough to get to the infirmary by himself without needing to be partly carried there by one of his guards. 

Dare he say, he may just need to ask for the assistance, and damn his pride-- but he would need to try first. 

Exhaling, he pressed his hand to heft the weight of the blankets and toss them aside, observing his form clad in the slim-fitting robes and spying the many rounds of bandages that peeked from beneath. Seems he had been out long enough to have been changed into something more suitable for a proper rest-- and though it was hardly his flowing robes, it would have to do for now. 

Pushing his tail from the center of the bed to the edge of the bed, the healing wound on its side twinged in pain, but he pushed to show no sign of it-- instead exhaling long and slow and letting it curl down to meet with the cool floor to allow his many legs to slowly curl to catch his weight and allow his main legs to slip over the edge and meet his feet with the floor so that he could at last push up and off the bed and waver a moment before sitting back down on the bed’s edge as his head spun. 

“Sire… do you require support…?” A voice of one of his attendants called, careful in its tone, as though he may snap at them for such an offer. 

He contemplated it a moment, and shook his head, “I simply needed to collect myself… it is but a rush of blood to the head. I will be quite fine on my own.” He was adamant that he would be, he could not show weakness before his people, he needed to be the perfect plinth so as to support their very hopes and dreams and to guide them into a brighter tomorrow. 

One falter and it could all be over…

Another moment clicked by, then a third, and he drew in a breath-- and slower this time, pressed up from the bed’s edge, with a grace almost akin to that of which he was used to. There it was… just take things slow and he would be fine. 

And he drew his first step, no stagger… the next fell in line with fluid sway-- careful and slower than his norm, but arms lifted and carefully folded hands over one another to grasp one another so as to keep a hold on himself and keep the focus on keeping his pace slow and steady throughout this entire process. 

But he needed to hurry, Grimm had no idea where he was, and the last thing he needed was him set loose into his kingdom and setting fire to all he had built thus far. Striding forward languid and carefully, his steps carried him through the pale and gilded white room and its perfect white light toward the halls beyond the grand door that secured his chambers. 

Silvery white light poured in through the hallway windows, almost seeming to follow the Pale King as he walked, brighter in his every step, each hall illuminated itself just the littlest bit more brilliantly as he strode through. 

Eventually, his steps slowed, breath deep and nigh haggard in his chest, but still not enough to make him want to ask for any semblance of assistance. Though he did lift a hand to his chest to steady himself, another hand from the opposing set of arms lifting to press to a nearby pillar to support himself and keep himself steady should his legs decide to threaten to buckle. 

And that was when he heard it; the pained cry and the sound of crackling flames-- 

He had known he had been near the infirmary, but never quite believed himself to be that near-- legs then carried him quicker, skittering over the hard tile and bringing a brief rush of dizziness but nothing he couldn’t operate through, almost stumbling, but continuing through it, and rounding the corner of the next hall to spy the figure of an infirmary attendant racing by with another hot on their tail hurriedly trying to pat out flames rapidly consuming the material of their uniform robes. 

But not just any kind of flames-- no traditional amber flames, but instead crimson flames licked at the other’s shell and threatened to consume them as well. 

_ Shit _ \-- 

It was the only thing he could think when something like this happened, the bright light of the hall intensifying as he raced as quickly as his body would allow him, wings flaring and flitting to allow him to dart faster down the hall. Circling round the grand pillar beside the doorway, his hand met with the doorway’s frame and he nearly toppled, but instead found himself leaning against the door’s frame, and he honestly should have expected the sight before him. 

Figures in white, all of which had long since sworn their loyalty to him, attempting to encircle the red shelled figure on the bed struggling to attempt to push himself onto his elbows and lashing out when any of them so much as stepped nearer than he liked, casting out flames in a slash of an arm that sent him back to the bed’s surface in a crumbling topple down. 

An unholy hiss left him, crimson hues drawn to thin slits as the black lids drew in tight from the sides and fangs bared from jagged mawed mandibles though the other seemed to be visibly sweating at the sheer strain of attempting to keep this up and stay conscious. 

“Grimm--” It was a soft call but it was enough to catch him before he could throw out another wave of clawing flames, more than certainly robbing himself of very well needed energy he could be using to enhance his healing factor. 

Heaving breathing drew in ragged tears and thin slits tore about the room, searching for the source of the voice before landing at last on the Pale King’s form in the doorway partly slumped to the doorway’s frame from the sheer force of attempting to run down the hall in the state he had been in.

And he remained that way, still, until an attendant moved to try and step nearer-- dragging his attention toward them and bringing with it another unnatural and unearthly noise that resembled that of a building snarl. 

“Stop” 

The attendant froze and turned their head, eyes wide as though they had broken some unspoken law, all of the attendants seemed to turn with them, eyes all focused on the Pale King as he righted himself, hand remaining pressed to the doorway as he pushed himself back up to standing straight. 

Grimm’s eyes remained trained on the nearest standing of the attendants, growl still weighty in his throat, “What do you think you are doing…” were the next words to leave the Wyrm. 

The attendant stuttered a moment, glancing about to their colleagues, to whom they also seemed to fumble and fidget for an answer, “We were simply following your orders and tending to the patient” 

“You did not think that when he should wake, after being unconscious upon his arrival, that perhaps he should be told what had brought him to this place, and why he should be in fact be welcoming of the assistance he is receiving?”

His voice was calm, cool, and collected, that of a genuine sovereign-- something he was familiar with in deligating the reason as to why his followers had done something he believed to be on the side of foolish or in the light of error. 

It did little to stop the other from fumbling once more for words as though a grave punishment may come of this should the words they chose be something that displeased the King. But they exhaled a shaky breath and with its short burst of air, “W-We were going to try but, before we could say anything, he tried to start getting up and straining his wounds-- he’s already split open three of his injuries since he woke up.”

And the Pale King frowned, brow furrowing, he supposed, if he were greeted with an unfamiliar environ after an encounter with the Radiance herself that had nearly killed him, he too could see why such panic and need to leave and find some place familiar and safe would be on the mind. 

“I see…”

Stepping forward, many legs followed in clattering steps over the cool tile, carrying his long body nearer toward the other Higher Being, and seeming to bring only fear into the eyes of the few attendants still in the room. As though the red shelled other may lash out at him as well-- 

But no such attack came, he seemed to be the only thing familiar in the room. 

“Leave us… I would like to speak with him in private”

And with seldom a word of protest, but a few brief glances of hesitation, the followers of the Pale King and his throne left the room and carefully shut the door nearly all the way, leaving it cracked, almost certainly to listen in should he cry out in pain from some attack from the other and so that they might be able to call the guard to leap into action and save their beloved monarch.

Though he knew no such action would come--

Attention remained on the near fully shut door, humming in his chest a moment and his breath pressed from him in a long and near haggard sigh, before turning eyes toward the red shelled other lying in a position ready to leap from the now crimson-stained bed he had awoken tucked carefully beneath the blankets of. 

“You seem to be causing quite the amount of trouble for my followers in their attempts to attend to you and your many wounds, Nightmare King”

To which the other huffed a snort of mock laughter, as though this entire situation had, in turn, been the Wyrm’s fault from the beginning. “May I ask it of you that you allow them to tend to your wounds without such a fuss? They only mean to help, it is as I ordered them to do--”

And he seemed to pause on the words last spoken before himself, at last, speaking in the familiar rasp. “You have ordered them to tend to me…?”

“Correct--”

“So then, it is safe to assume that we are within the confines of your palace walls as you had mentioned before…” And he paused, seeming caught on something a moment, as though the fact as to how he had come into this state of being and what had happened to him had just come rushing back to him in that moment. 

He gave a soft nod of his head, bowing his crown of horns a moment as he did so, and looked to the wounds partly bandaged and mostly left untended to-- it seemed as though the two had not been back for long, or if they had been, the infirmary attendants had tended to the Pale King first and then tended to Grimm second despite his direct orders to tend to him first-- 

He would have to see about that later… 

“Before the Radiance attacked you… for saving my life, of that I have no doubt” He hummed, and exhaled another ragged sigh, looking again to the other and spying his own gaze had shifted to the King’s own injuries bandaged tight in gauze and treated with enchanted salves. 

“You were attacked as well, were you not…”

Grimm lifted his head, locking still razor-thin crimson hues with his own pitch eyes, watching for something of which he wasn’t quite certain what. But he knew he was searching for something to justify means of rebelling against the request to show restraint and listen to the Pale King’s request of him to let his wounds be treated instead of fighting the attendants’ every move to assist him. 

To which he let eyes fall shut and shook his head, “I cannot say I was attacked if I leapt into that fray”

And it was then that the scarlet slits drew the faintest bit wider, as though surprised. 

“What do you mean…” He was not given a moment to explain himself, “You leapt into the fray-- you mean you antagonized her in place of running as a sane being should do?”

And he chuckled, for the first time in a long time, he actually laughed a little bit, which seemed to actually make those thin crimson hues draw that much wider-- as though relaxing and pleasantly surprised by the sound of the other’s laughter. 

“I did not antagonize, I would say that she did intend to attack, but I was the one to settle into a challenging stature and lunge at her for her crimes against you” 

“You… fought her… for me” He shook his head and shut his eyes, lifting a hand and lowering himself back to the bed’s surface, pressing the palm to his brow and chuckling the familiar ashen hiss of a laugh, but this time it was almost rather humorless. “Pray tell, have you lost your senses, did you hit your head, did that fever take something with it when I burned it out of you?”

“I suppose it certainly must have,  _ dear fellow _ \-- because I must admit, I have not felt such fury for a betrayal of someone I have barely known in such a long time. I had almost forgotten what it had felt like. I am believing there is just something about  _ you _ that allows me to feel such rage, oh, Grimm” To which again the other laughed, a little harder, but this time with a genuine sort of humor to it, something that rather brought a little light to the center of the Pale King’s chest. 

It was uplifting to hear considering the state the other was in, hell, considering the state they were  _ both _ in-- well, until he started coughing and winced in pain at the sheer tension that then wracked his body.

Silence fell then for a few moments, quiet and lingering but almost… comfortable, until eventually, Grimm spoke again to break it.

“You saved me… despite the fact that we are near strangers. I had only cured you of fever--”

“Incorrect, you purged me of her essence… and saved me from a lifetime of servitude to a Higher Being I loathe through and through as a lifeless husk, trapped within my own body” He hummed softly letting eyes fall shut and folded a set of his hands behind his back neatly, “I suppose I should rather thank you for as much, and I suppose this could be said to be repayment for such an act but… it was not an act of such.”

Grimm’s eyes parted, hand lifting from over them to peer from under it and glance at him as though confused, “Then… why save me…”

“Because I cannot let a soul in need go by without lending my hand-- and…” He paused, chuckling once more, opening eyes to peer down at the other, “Who would I be without someone to amuse…?”

The look of surprise that crossed the Nightmare King’s face lasted but a second, but it lingered long enough to cross into a brief almost touch of dare he say endearment and that smug bastard’s crooked little grin that always seemed to find its way back in place no matter what he did. 

“Will you let them help you…”

Grimm’s smile never faltered, but he did heave a sigh, seeming to loll his head from one side to the next and then shrug as though this were more akin to something he could play around with, as though he had plans and this was something that thankfully did not interfere with them for the time being. 

“I suppose I shall, since you’ve asked quite to politely, my friend” he near purred, sounding moreso as though he were lounging now on the bed in place of being stricken to it until he could recollect his strength and leave it at last. 

“Then I shall ensure so long as you are willing to stay here that you are safe, she does not know of this place… she cannot find us. So you may heal in peace, Grimm” 

And with that, he moved to turn and walk toward the door.

“Pale King…” 

He paused in his stride, turning head back round to look to the other lying over the ichor stained bed, and gave a soft cant of his head, “Mm?”

“You have my thanks… shall we call this a new start so that we may better learn of each other as acquaintances? I would like to apologize for how I behaved before all of this…”

“The past is the past… without it, we would not be where we are… but I accept your thanks and invitation to acquaintanceship in the coming days--” He gave a final nod toward the other, “Until at least  _ I _ am able to walk without strain so that I may oversee your care, I will see you again, my friend” 

Grimm, in turn, nodded with a deep inward breath and outward rasping exhale, as though reluctant, but willing to listen if only for a future encounter with the other. 

“Until then, my friend”

“ _ Until then _ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand this chapter is doooone, which I'm pretty pleased with, I liked how this chapter came out, I always like writing fight scenes and the wakeups after serious damage is done, so this was a chapter I was really looking forward to writing.
> 
> From here on though is the slow build toward romantic attentions, friendship has been (sorta) achieved, it's definitely something I was trying to work in, and hoping that it sounded alright throughout it.


	8. Guilt's Founding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, sorry for how long this chapter took, let it be known that this one is about 40 words shy of being 9000 words, so it's definitely a long one. It also took me a while to write as there is quite a bit going on in my life and the only time I have to write is when I'm not busy with work. 
> 
> Hoping that you like this one!

It was a solid day then missed of communication between him and the other, though it did not stop him from ensuring that he sent his personal retainers to see to the other’s care being held to the utmost level of quality throughout the fact of which his own was also overseen by the divided team split between the two injured and energy drained gods. 

He had sent a letter with the one attendant that had attempted to press him back down into the bed, to ensure the other knew that he was still thinking of the fact that he was there-- so near and yet so far away. 

It had not been much of anything terribly important-- 

‘Grimm, 

I should hope this finds you in a better state than I found you   
in yesterday, this is simply a letter to keep our lines of    
communication open for but the short time that I should find   
myself bedridden.

Ask anything you should like of the attendants I have sent to    
your aide, they will ensure that your stay within the infirmary    
walls is that of a comfortable one. 

I will see you soon--

\-- The Pale King’

It had been something short, sweet and to the point, to let him know he could request anything to make this stay all the more comfortable until he got what he had wanted of the other to genuinely repay the life debt he had owed from before all of this mess had gone down-- 

But the longer he thought on the fact that the other would have to stay here while he healed...

It made him wonder just which rooms within this wing of the palace were available to be converted into a guest room so that he might travel nearer toward the other’s location, so as to better ensure he could oversee his path toward healing stayed on a certain track. 

As his mind lingered on it, lowering the book in his hands to hum softly in his chest, he tilted his head gently in thought, and carefully marked his place in the book of fanciful tales of old, and turned attention toward the edge of the bed. 

He could sit up without strain, but what he wondered was whether or not he could walk without the strain of his own weight bringing his legs to try and buckle. 

He had attempted it the day before, before laying down to rest, and the attempt had been… he supposed it could be called easier than his first attempt, to which he had staggered backward into the edge of his bed and fumbled akin to a newborn beast learning to use its legs for the first time. By the end of that day he had not stumbled nor staggered-- but still felt great weakness throughout his many legs carrying him from the strain of standing for so terribly long. 

And the day after, the day of the letter, he had come to attempt walking throughout the day a total of five times, testing the speed to which his body was healing-- pleased to find that by day’s end, though the strain of his own weight still did cast some manner of strain on his legs, it felt fractional compared to what he had felt the day before. 

Looking toward the window and staring at the pale light that illuminated the frame, he drew in a breath, contemplating a moment before glancing back toward the bed’s edge and shifting himself-- catching his attendant’s attention, of whom came running over with open hands offered to catch a set of the King’s own to assist him and hold him steady on his feet should his weight waver on his feet. 

He supposed he should have felt some semblance of amusement, maybe a touch of humility and endearment, but-- that damnable temper wanted to rear its head and he simply waved a hand, pressing to usher the other back a bit, curling his tail over the bed’s edge to meet back with the tile’s surface and let his many legs slowly collect themselves over the smooth marble. 

The attendant backed up the littlest bit, but with fidgeting hands, remained defiantly near enough so as to catch him should his weight prove too much for him. 

He wanted to visit the other, to see how Grimm’s condition had improved with his severe lack of energy and a lack of an energy source to fuel it and kickstart it back into some manner of gear. He had to think as well, perhaps if he could bring some manner of one of the totems from the world of old before this one came upon it, and brought it to Grimm, perhaps he could harness the Soul trapped within the container and utilize it to heal himself. 

Hmm, perhaps he could very well do that, but it made him wonder if the other was even perhaps capable of utilizing Soul as he was. 

It was a gamble, something of one were he honest but it meant that he were trying to expedite the healing process and get the other back on his feet-- being bedridden was something nigh maddening if you were used to being an all-powerful entity and then suddenly robbed of it and rendered to a state little more than a quick healing mortal bug until you managed to collect your essence and energies back. 

He had a taste of it at the moment, whether he would succeed or tumble down, putting his legs over the edge of the bed and meeting feet with the ground to steady himself a moment before exhaling to brace and pressed at the bed with twin sets of hands to heft himself carefully and slowly from the edge. 

A faint dizziness befell him, making his head spin for but a moment, but legs did not dare to buckle… and he lingered there for a moment, before exhaling long and in a quick rush of relief at the sheer fact that he had such balance in this moment and no strain, but he knew it would not last so shortly after such grave injuries. 

No ache befell him, nor did any want to simply collapse-- skies, he could almost rejoice, the sheer fact that he may not be so bedridden after but a short stint trapped to its admittedly comfortable confines was far more than he quite liked to deal with. 

He paused-- lingering and setting a hand to the near post of his bed before letting it slide down as he let realization sink in that he was not bound to the fate of weakness this day. 

A certain joy mounted its place high in his chest, enough so that he could rather say it was a touch intoxicating-- and a little bit of him wanted to hold onto that, daring to step forward and leave the comforts of his bedside to stride (as best as this still healing burn would allow him to and the many slashes that still littered his body in idle to be scars).

And the control lingered, a certain kind of elation befalling him, before he took another stride, quicker than the last, and another, testing his balance, his strength-- it lingered with him. It was nowhere near what it had been before the unexpected battle with the goddess, but it was enough that he knew he could ready himself to be seen and perhaps leave this room, perhaps even get back to his Kingly duties.

Oh, don’t overshoot, you old fool-- 

Take it a step at a time, think what your dear Root would think of you in such a state--

And it was but a flash of the thought through his mind before he exhaled a breath he hadn’t known he had been holding, and continued-- a bit slower than he wanted to but it was a smooth enough pace-- accompanied by this almost limp to his burn affected side, but enough that he knew perhaps that he could face at the very least, the challenge of traversing the halls to visit the other Higher Being far yonder. 

And again his mind wandered to the idea of bringing him nearer, once stable enough to know the sanctity of his own room-- to know the comfort of his own bed and not be so consistently plagued by the attendants of the infirmary and their ever-looming care. Thought it was the very best the kingdom could offer, it could be a touch overbearing at times.

He knew as much with them consistently coming into his p[ersonal quarters to check on his condition-- he could scarcely imagine the state the other must be in with the team of healers ever present.

Yes, as soon as he could get the other to a stable state, or at least capable of walking on his own to get far enough to the personal quarters he could perhaps plot out a better location for. 

Hmm, perhaps in the empty wing adjacent to his personal quarters’ position within the grand castle…?

It would be a nearer walk but give him room to breathe-- yes, that may just work, but ah, he was getting far ahead of himself, the other had yet to heal to such a point-- let alone be  _ asked _ if he would even accept such a thing. 

Hmm… perhaps he  _ should _ go out of his way to visit the man-- 

Thoughts had raced through his mind in but the blink of the eye, attention then shifting to his grand wardrobe of the many pristine white robes of their grand and elegant designs, and set off toward it. 

“Sire…? Are you certain you are well enough to be readying yourself for a day amid the palace activities that may be taking place?” 

He turned his head, humming in thought, and let gaze shift to the worrisome attendant, “I will tend to the injured guest I brought with me, but my duties will have to wait but a day longer… for now I must ensure he isn’t going mad with restlessness--” And he paired the last of his words with a subtle roll of his eyes (though with the entirety a solid pitch, it was nigh impossible to tell), the very thought of the other cooped up and drawing restless  _ was _ rather amusing. 

Heavens, he may just throw a fit at the idea of being kempt up for so long. Now, now, Wyrm-- don’t chuckle, you’ll seem more akin to a madman than a king, laughing at nothing--

A hand lifted to near press its back to his mouth, faint in its gesture, but enough to betray the truth as to just how humorous he found the image that he alone could see. A tantruming god was still a god, Wyrm-- he could do more damage than any good could repair. 

His attendant gave a bowing nod of their head, “Yes, your majesty-- it is understood. Would you perhaps like to move the location of the guest to a quarters nearer to your own so that you may travel shorter a distance--?” Soft, but definitive enough to be recognized-- he turned his head toward the other, not enough to quite turn round, but-- enough to let the other know they had his attention. 

It seemed it was enough that the attendant of question could mistake it for dangerous attention gained, and they squeaked what had almost sounded like an apology, catching themselves, before going on to explain their personal reasoning behind such a suggestion (Though, were he honest, he was moreso surprised the other had nigh read his mind). “So that you may have more time to heal between your time spent overseeing the other’s healing and your kingly duties in the future, my king”

A wave of the hand came in turn-- 

“There is no such need to explain yourself…” The shuffle of fabric from behind him came to paint the picture of the other lifting their head in a sense of uncertainty. “I had quite the same idea-- your explanation as to why it would benefit, my, I should say it only proves to bring me toward asking our guest whether he should take to such an idea--” And a hum then left him, thinking a moment, head turning back toward the hall of raiments before him.

And stride returned, recognizing in that moment that he should perhaps not waste the time to which he could remain standing without struggle. 

“I believe I just may ask him of such…” 

And with that, he shut the partition between him and his attendants, he knew for certain he could use the assistance in readying himself for the day, but in the state he was in-- drawing pause as he shifted the robes from his shoulders to press a hand to the burn scarred shell at his shoulder’s crest-- a press at it confirming his belief that it was nowhere near yet ready to molt, he exhaled a breath he had since forgotten he had been holding. 

He wanted as few others as he could get seeing him in this state-- let alone catching a glimpse the damage the Radiance had dealt unto him in an up close manner such as assisting him in dressing for the day might allow. 

They needn’t know such fear of a goddess they may never meet--

Swathed in silvery-white robes, trimmed in radiant and pale lace of his own chosen design, the figure of the Pale King could be seen in the halls of the palace, at last emerged from his quarters to close the distance between himself and his injured guest-- 

He supposed to trade out his usual robes for something more customary for palace delegations was perhaps a bit much… but to leave in a state to which he could compare a bedridden bug, sicker than death itself-- he quite believed that he’d die of sheer embarrassment being seen as such. 

Besides-- it had been utter ages since he had last worn such finery-- 

It couldn’t hurt to dress a bit nicer for a guest, right?

He paused at the thought and gave a shake of his head, what a strange notion-- 

Nevertheless, with the assistance of a stave borrowed from his closet to keep himself upright in moments of stillness, the distance between his abode and the infirmary was something quick closed. Well, comparatively to what it had taken him but a day or so ago-- anything was faster than that-- even with the assistance of his flitting wings, he could swear by memory alone that it had been one of the longest stints of time spent darting from one location to the next. 

Were he honest, he could swear it to be a rush of panic in his chest that had slowed it down as such, but-- ah, it was all in the past, was it not? 

He felt that perhaps it could be second only to… when he had run from the Radiance in his state of grave injury. And he paused in stride as the pillars aligned with the doorframe of the infirmary came into view. 

He had been injured by her, yes… but Grimm… had been brought to the cusp of death for what he could only discern as her believed betrayal for assisting him in surviving that wretched fever she had dealt unto him. Or perhaps it had been just that she had snapped at long last and sought to lash out and claw out the fraying ends to a relationship she had bled dry long ago. 

He couldn’t quite imagine what it was like… to be struck down by someone of your own bloodline. Someone you had once trusted only to watch them descend into a rage-induced madness… 

A madness that, were he honest… he had personally had a hand in inflicting upon her… brow furrowed in thought, hands gripping the stave before him and leaning into its support, he could feel the frown threaten to crease his expression as a certain stage of realization washed over him. 

In a sense… what had happened to the bedridden Nightmare King had been… his fault. 

Through all facets of what had come of this feud between him and the other god of light, he had been the source of her hate, the source of her rage… the source of her madness if he connected the pieces beneath the right glow of light. 

Yes, he had… he had ensured the other stayed on this plane and was not robbed of what would feel like an eternity trapped to a plane of existence that no other soul could access in any stage of waking mind while a form of suitable design could be manifested by the sheer power of will of a trapped god. 

But… he had been the reason it had even happened to begin with-- 

Hands creaked their shell at the sheer force of strength clutching to the stave in his grasp,  you blasted fool, you were the reason any of this even happened … a shake of his head, slow, but trying if nothing else to shake the pouring ache of realization from his mind. 

He could only hope the other would not connect such dots. 

Grip slackened on the stave and a sigh heaved its way from him, he could only thank the skies that no one was near to see him in such a state. 

Eyes had fallen shut in his self realized guilt, left hand sliding from its place clutching to the stave and fell to hang at his side as the opposite nigh shook from strain of strength threatening to make the elegant staff of pale ore and ornate carved white wood, he could feel with the sheer force of his grip the surface of the walking stick wanted to bow and creak beneath it-- and all because it made his mind race, a fury bubbling at the could be path this might lead him down. 

His people could very well suffer the fate of the one that had saved him from that terrible fate he had been trapped to step toward with his every waking breath in a time where his greed for more grounds to give unto the people that worshipped him had damned him to such a terrible state. 

And this was how he thanked him… 

This was how he thanked his  _ people… _

By bringing  _ her _ fury down on them--

Damnable old fool--

An exhale of breath drew an expression that had pulled itself in tight from the sheer frustration of realization raining its terrible weight down on his shoulders back to an almost somber mockery of his once cool and pristine visage. 

He had to do something to stop her… before such a thing could happen to this great civilization he had built… before such a thing could be repeated on the wounded guest just beyond the wall at his side. 

And he knew he had to act quickly-- but… but what was he to do-- 

If things continued this way, he knew damn well and good that it would just eat at him until nothing else existed within his mind but searching for a means to end this ancient feud in a way that saved the innocent many from her wrath. 

From a feud that may just bring his own wrath down upon them-- 

But for now… eyes opened to turn attention toward the infirmary’s grand doorway to which the pillars only allowed a glimpse of from where he stood, and exhaled once more a long and low breath, there was no sense in letting it consume him like this. 

Not when he had promised his company to another, it was best he saved such thoughts for a time when he could better focus on a means to such an end. 

And with the soft click of his stave to the stone tile, and a soft lift of his head-- a familiar mask slid back into place, one of pristine cool and demure poise. It would last as long as he held to his will and did not let his mind stray toward the guilt that had reared its head in the moments prior. 

And, at last, he let stride carry him back into the sway of elegance and the familiar kingly air that followed him in all ways when among the people that had sworn themselves unto him. 

Soft in the many rolling steps of his multitude of legs clattering over the stone, his left hand lifted to meet with the door to the infirmary in all its grand and ornate nature, pressing at it with a soft wince, and a free hand shifting to dart to his wounded side that had yet to fully heal from his first encounter with the blasted Higher Being that had left him in such a state-- taking a pause, he exhaled and gave a second press to the door’s sculpted form, feeling it at last give way beneath his strength though his side dared to scream for him to stop and simply seek another’s help in opening the grand doors. 

Slow, but most certainly something another could mistake for as a courteous attempt at keeping silence within the infirmary for the injured guest within, he stepped round the tremendous structure with a soft lean to peer in, tucking away his hand that had clutched to his still aching side, the many eyes of the patiently waiting attendants within landed on his figure silhouetted in the light that poured through the open doorway. 

Quickly, and with nigh silent steps, the collective of healers stepped the faintest bit nearer, an elation crossing into being across their many faces-- “Sire--!” The one that called to him stepped nearer still, bowing in a certain facet of reverence, before lifting their head with a clasping of their hands before themselves, “We must thank you for gracing us with your presence, even in the state to which we know you are in, it is an honor” And again the other bowed their head deeper than it had been moments before. 

A lift of his hand that had once clutched to his side, thanking his stars for the pale light that bloomed around him at all times, wings shifting behind him as an idle ned to fidget and take his mind off the burn that still plagued his side from the strain but seconds before. He hummed low, as though amused and looked about the room, spying the dark lit state the room was in fact in. “It is nothing to which you must thank me for… I am fairly certain I will be visiting often in the process of our guest’s healing.”

Speaking of which… 

Pitch hues drifted about the room, it seemed to which many of the beds that had lined the grounds of the infirmary floor had been tucked away to another location and the far right side of the room closed away behind grand hanging curtains that split the room into two parts. 

He supposed this was one way to give the other a sense of privacy… but it did leave him to wonder just why the room was quite so dark. 

“I must ask as to why the room should be in such a gloomy state… our guest is quite alright, is he not?” A flare of concern welled in his chest though he could hear just how cool and collected his voice sounded to those not familiar with his own brand of trickery. And it seemed the attendant before him was indeed among the numberless many that could not discern his genuine calm from the fabricated. 

If he had his way, he would ensure that it stayed as such-- 

A moment passed as the attendant glanced about themselves at the dim-lit lanterns that cast their glow in such a manner that one might almost assume it was night outside, were it not for the fact he had just passed through the brilliant glow of the halls outside this room, and the pale light that gleamed through the cracks in the far curtains, he too could have been fooled into believing such a thing. 

“Oh--!” Their voice remained faintly hushed, looking to the far curtains that divided the room, and stepped toward them, “Our guest has taken to resting through much of the time of the last day past, your majesty.” 

A facet of curiosity bloomed into being, beckoning a faint cant of his head as he too stepped nearer toward the elegant drapery that split the room, watching as the other lifted a hand from their place folded before their being and split an unseen seam of the curtains to unveil the form of the Nightmare King beneath the blanketing fabric of infirmary covers. Though it seemed his traditional pale shades of white and pale monochromes had been traded out for a splendid and rich shade of crimson-- 

He wondered if the blanket had perhaps been fabricated on request or perhaps as means to appease a guest of the King, but ah, he supposed he may never know with the other in what seemed to be a deep slumber. 

He took a pause, a moment gazing off into the room made of the billowing white fabric secured high above. He couldn’t help but recognize just how… peaceful the bedridden King seemed in this state. 

Briefly wondering just what gods themselves over the realm of dreams and nightmares could perhaps dream of, perhaps of the past? Or perhaps of possible futures yet to come-- 

An obscure semblance of curiosity welled in his chest, mounting higher within his throat, the want to call out and beckon him from the sleep, a stubbornness that dared to want a visit to this place to be anything but a wasted one-- but he bit it back with seldom a trace of it in his gaze. 

No, nor would he bend to the want to step nearer and collect a better view of just what Grimm looked like in such a peaceful state…  just a bit nearer couldn’t hurt…

A soft nod of his head and he exhaled a low breath, “I will have to return at a later date then, I suppose” And watched as the other moved to let the curtains fall shut, if only to allow the other the means to properly rest, turning away as the elegant white fabric slowly fell back to their closed state.

“Wait--” A voice called, beckoning the Pale King’s attention and bring his head to turn back round to face the source tucked behind the curtains and the guest he had believed to be so deeply asleep as he had seemed but moments before. Hearing what he could only picture as the fabric of the grand scarlet blankets shift beneath the force of the form beneath them raising to rest his weight on a balanced hand digging then into the plush surface of the mattress he had spent the majority of the last few days trapped to. “Do not leave... “ A semblance of grogginess lilted his voice, but quickly followed his order with an addition of “…I am awake”

Stepping back toward the curtains, he watched as the fabric parted by way of the attendant’s hand, and spied exactly that of the figure still shifting to rest on a lone hand-- that of which belonged to the only uninjured limb as a drowsiness that was quick fading dared paint its way across the entity’s face. 

A glance then given to the healer that held open the makeshift doorway, and he nodded his thanks as he stepped forward to pass beneath, bowing head to avoid his crown of horns from catching on the thick but delicate fabric dividing the room, and lifted his head as many legs carried him through to stand on the other side. 

Stepping nearer, the tap of his stave on the cool stone tile marked as the only noise in the room, he glanced briefly without a turn of his head for a means to sit near the other’s bedside, and finding none, gave a lift of a hand not holding to the stave’s body to cast forth a glow of brilliant white energy that called forth a sculpted pale wooden seat with intricate fabric sewn into place over the lone cushions that backed the seat and body of the chair-- woven into being from the nothingness as though reality had bent to the Wyrm’s very will and let him play with the resources of this plane to paint the structure into being as effortlessly as a weaver with its silk.

And as the light had yet to fade from its being, the Pale King himself turned and coiled his tail in nearer about himself and took perch upon the cushioned seat sculpted from the ether, holding stave betwixt two hands to let the freed set of hands neatly fold in his lap. 

Gaze shifted toward the healer in the makeshift doorway, nodding in thanks and with a brief lift of his hand beckoned for them to let the curtains fall back shut as they stared on with a wide-eyed sort of reverence that only seemed to be renewed and strengthened by witnessing the blatant manipulation of reality in its purest form. To which, they stumbled a moment as to what to do and bowed their head, letting the curtains glide back shut with a soft tug, and vanished behind their pale fabric. 

Attention then shifted, pitch hues rounding back toward the crimson eyed other as he settled back into his tidy poise within the conjured chair, wings giving a soft shift behind him as they themselves settled over the chair’s back to drape akin to fabric over its surface. A semblance of curiosity painted the other’s face, observing the Wyrm in a manner that almost seemed to mimic that of fascination or something nigh identical to it. 

_ “You seem to be healing well, Grimm…” _ A tongue to which had long since been lost to Mortals rolled from him, soft and nigh gently echoing, sweet enough sounding that one could not mistake it for anything but that of godly in nature. 

The crimson shelled other lifted his head faintly, were he but a beast, he could swear he’d spy ears perking forward with a familiar but foreign sense of recognition. 

It was rare to find another Higher Being, let alone one that still knew the language many of them had known well before this realm had fallen into their hands. 

_ “You speak in the mother language, a curious choice with mortal bugs so near, Pale King--” _ Punctuating his words with the soft cant of his head to the side, his hand that supported him shifted as his form shifted over the bed to press back to the bed’s cushions and headboard-- pausing to shift a hand to his bandaged torso with an idle wince crossing into place over the surface of his usually so smug visage. 

He hummed a barely there chuckle,  _ “Ah, but you forget-- they are but mortal beings, they needn’t know that of which we might speak” _ He gave a moment to pause, glancing to the hand lain over the other’s carefully bandaged wounds,  _ “Let alone should we speak of the one that left you and I in this state--” _

A hum of understanding left the taller of the two, gaze shifting as well to stare off into the nothingness between the Pale King’s form and the distant wall behind him, and the Wyrm, in turn, frowned, the brow of his shell threatening to furrow at the distant stare of the other. 

Had he struck a nerve…?

Gaze trailed over the bandages that were not tucked beneath the blankets that had covered the other’s form but moments before. There was still so much that he could almost feel was still ready to split open and bleed through the wrapped fabric of the other’s bandaging. And though he could swear he held the utmost control of where his mind wandered, the flash of the other freshly unearthed from beneath the rubble that had buried him came into his mind and left him staring off into the space between himself and Grimm. 

You caused this…

But something sparked from it, in memory, there had been no attempt from the other to demand himself be saved… no demand for salvation, no clutching to him with what strength had remained but for the latching fist that had rumpled the front of his now ruined robes. 

Had he already believed himself to be lost beneath the weight of what the Radiance had done?

_ “You seem calm for the state she left you in, my friend-- are you quite alright…? From the sheer agility you showed when I had attempted to strike you down, I would have figured you would have evaded her with great ease”  _ There was another rolling chortle, but by its sound, it was almost entirely humorless, seeming moreso caught in the fact the entity before him had almost… left himself wide open to be injured so blatantly. 

_ “It is not the first time she has done such damage-- and by the luck I have known of these many planes, should she ever find me again, it will not be the last”  _

He looked on, watching as growingly familiar crimson hues shifted from the distance to land back on perfect pitch eyes that met their stare. It lingered there a moment before red shifted to gaze off toward the intricate curtains and higher, to lock with the crown molding that lined the pillars that held the ceiling firmly supported… trailing round to take in the distant detail 

The subject then quickly jumped from the state the crimson shelled other had been left in to grasp at straws for anything but that as the main focus. 

_ “I must say, my friend, this place is rather lavish for what one may consider an infirmary” _

And there was a lingering pause as the Pale King’s own stare remained fixed firm on the scarlet eyed other.  _ “You’ve faced this kind of agony before then--”  _ His tone gave away the budding frustration that welled in his chest-- how could it be that the Higher Being that could call herself this bug’s sibling would dare lay a hand on someone that she trusted so dearly as to allow him within her personal company. 

An answer did not yet come to the Wyrm’s question, instead, it seemed to only call those crimson hues to hide away behind the pitch lids that slide shut over them. 

_ “The Radiance has never been one to know restraint when it comes to her fury--” _ A deep breath slid from its place deep in the Wyrm’s chest as brow furrowed,  _ “I suppose I should not be surprised in knowing she had been the one to slay all others of your bloodline-- but after so much time passed, one would believe she would be satisfied with such bloodshed and preserve that of which survived the slaughter”  _

Grimm gave a soft chortle, humorless as the Pale King’s own laugh had been but moments before,  _ “You must realize, her willingness to preserve that of which is loyal to her is overshadowed by her loathing for you.” _ To which the Pale King’s brow only seemed to furrow the faintest bit deeper, already pitch eyes growing darker as this guilt he had realized moments before drew deeper in its dragging pull at his conscious. 

_ “So then in your salvation of me… you damned yourself to know the fiery end of her wrath…”  _ He had given up what one could call safety for something he had seen in the Pale King at his weakest of states, something that he was still unaware as to what it had been that had called to him. In such a state, how could anything be fitting to call unto another in such a siren’s manner? 

At least enough to throw away what was familiar, knowing damn well that the fate he would face would be nothing but agony… and he paused in thought, the marring expression growing faintly lighter in its weight as a fracturing flash of realization bled into place. 

He had… he had stated that this was not the first time she had done this to him. Not the first time, and he believed if his luck were to stay so dreadfully true, then he would know this pain again. 

Was it truly safety if he were so familiar with such agony?

_ “Then… why is it, you endure her company and receive the fire of her fury, is it simply the truth that you are born of the same blood?” _ His grip on the stave tightened as frustration bloomed in his chest and dared grind its fiery heat behind the helm of his shell, daring to well and threaten this budding anger to try and burst through the brow of his shell at how heavy it drew at the lone fact that there was yet another that new suffering at the hands of the Radiance. 

Eyes had pressed shut and a long breath drew its way into his chest, only to sigh free far slower than it had swelled in his chest. Pitch hues gleamed back open, glinting with the pale light that glittered overhead in the many Lunafly lanterns that offered the little light in the still dimly lit infirmary.  _ “Or is it simply because it is the easier path to take…” _

It was then that a quiet fell over the two of them, the unearthly language of the Higher Beings not filling the air as the Nightmare King failed to fill the void of conversation, crimson hues fallen shut and refused to open as he too, in turn, took a breath that seemed less to steady a budding ire and more akin to something that burned on the edge of accepting he would, at last, have to confront a pain he had long since endured. 

_ “When one comes to know a facet of agony as a familiar part of their life, it is not unusual that they might come to cling to it, a vital part of many a being’s nightmares-- such pain is often something they come to depend on” _ He exhaled a slow breath, letting a hand lift to press to his bandaged side, and lingered there. 

_ “Then perhaps it is time that one should come to search for the means to cut away such a facet…” _ Grimm’s eyes opened, staring on toward the bed’s end a moment before shifting as confusion seemed to threaten and filter into place across his face. What was he saying,  _ “You paint it out that your life is sculpted akin to a jewel to be merely observed-- if its faceting displeases you, then slice away what displeases you-- reshape that gem to glow in a different manner--” _

The red shelled other’s brow, in turn, seemed to furrow, as though this idea challenged the very grounds of all he knew. 

_ “Her presence causes you nothing but agony… this place, this palace-- it is beyond her reach. If your loyalty to her has only brought you agony, my belief lies on the side of your right to know freedom from such suffering” _

_ “What are you saying…” _

Lifting the stave to tap it back to the ground, his hands wrang at the sculpted wood, head dipping forward with something of a gentile sense of wisdom. And with it came this subtle chortle, one that only seemed to bring those crimson hues to draw from their confused and thin slits to grow faintly wider--,  _ “What I am saying… is that the time for you to be the facet through which she lets her fury burn, through which she can lie her loathing to know a place that it will be accepted without resistance-- my friend, it is long since past that point.”  _

Grimm remained silent, brow furrowing as though he had never quite thought of that. Yes, everyone thought of freedom, but did one ever actually reach out for it? 

_ “There is much room within these palace walls… until you are well enough to defend yourself again and perhaps even be the one to tear her from that false throne to which she holds herself on, I would like to ask if you would be willing to be a long-standing guest and know the privacy and dignity of your own quarters once you are able to stand and walk of your own strength again--”  _

_ “You are… offering me sanctuary…?” _ And he could see the frown that furrowed its way into place, he didn’t need to lift his head and look to the other’s expression to know that confusion wracked its entirety. 

Eyes drew shut, and a soft nod of his head, a gentle chortle again leaving him,  _ “I suppose you could call it as much, though if I am truly honest, I should believe I would call this thanking you for past deeds.”  _ To which eyes opened to meet back with the crimson locked on him, watching them draw faintly wider as surprise painted its brilliant hues amid the confusion that had wracked his visage in its entirety but moments before. 

_ “But… you saved me from death’s door, anything you could have owed me is since repaid--” _ His head shook brief, back and forth, and he leaned nearer,  _ “You needn’t give such grounds unto me, I should be thanking you for even saving me to begin with, Pale King”  _ But with a lift of his hand the other drew silent. 

_ “I will have no such petty talk from the King over the Nightmare plane-- you are welcome in this palace until you should choose to leave, and ever still, until it should choose to topple--”  _ And he hummed a soft almost laugh, head lifting to bring a nigh deific poise to his stature.  _ “Which I don’t believe should come to pass so long as I remain-- you are welcome within this palace, nay-- this kingdom.”  _

Grimm’s expression drew faintly darker at the proposition and his gaze shifted, leaning back to his resting place in the bed, back again pressing to the headboard of the infirmary bed.  _ “She will come looking for us... “ _

_ “And I will face that day when it comes… but for now, I ask your presence to linger within this palace until you are well, and beyond-- should you choose to stay within the confines of this palace, I welcome you to stay so long as this place should bring you comfort”  _ And he quirked a smile, something faintly crooked that mirrored that of which he had seen cross the other’s face many times before.  _ “Or so long as I should perhaps bring you amusement--” _

Grimm’s eyes shifted their fiery gaze from their point staring off into the far distance beyond the end of the bed to which he had spent the last few days entirety, and again found their way meeting back to perfect black. A faint gleam of light had returned to their stare, that facet of mirth that the Wyrm had come to know as but a part of his presence glimmering in the myriad of emotions that seemed almost unfamiliar in this other Higher Being’s hands.

It was as though he had never known the sense of freedom that he had now before him-- 

Well, he couldn’t blame him, the many bugs of his new kingdom had themselves been confounded on how to approach such freedom. 

_ “You are… certain about this then…? I drove you to the state of fever you were left in, it was my choices that drove me to come to your aid, to begin with” _

And with a new thump of the stave betwixt his hands, it clicked on the tile with a satisfying but resounding noise, sharp and clean, but clear enough that it jarred the other from finding some manner of an excuse to exclude himself from this chance at freedom. 

_ “I will hear nothing of this… you are welcome so long as I should see it fit.” _ It was his own fault the other was injured to begin with… the least he could do was find the means to atone for that, and even then, he found there would be quite a void left were the other to simply disappear. 

He couldn’t quite explain it, but it had been ages since he had last known the comradery of another, and the idea of Grimm simply vanishing the moment he could again walk, far too injured to properly defend himself-- 

No, that simply would not do. 

His mind flickered back to the last grounds he’d had where he stood against the other as an enemy might, and recalled the clearing to which he had so nearly struck the other down,  _ “In all truth, we still owe one another a proper duel after the last time we … or should I say  _ I _ lunged for a kill.” _

Again Grimm’s eyes drew back to that faintly wider stare, blinking back this sort of disbelief,  _ “You would see to returning to your previous strength to enact a duel with me…” _

He gave a soft nod of his head, crooked smile still faintly fixed in place, a coy light to his expression, one that mirrored the very same he had seen in the other’s expressions, something childlike and yet devilish. 

_ “I should say it less a genuine duel, and more something on the lines of a bit of payback for the hell you caused me before we knew the grounds of comradery that we now stand on today” _

Grimm blinked, just the once but enough to betray his surprise, and there in the far light of those haunting crimson hues he could see it bloom to life, smothering the almost fear of a painful future that may never be should the Radiance ever find them-- and he watched as that devilish gleam flooded his eyes, curling the corners of his jagged toothed mouth into a wicked and yet demure smile. 

_ “Is it really so much that I caused you hell? My, I believe then I must-- what is the term…” _ He paused, drawing a hand wound in bandages to the cheek of his pale white shell to feign childish forgetfulness and hummed,  _ “I believe it is that I must scale up my efforts? Lest I seem too tame for your company and let that fury you hold fizzle out-- mm, little king?” _

His hands clenched tight at the stave, brow of his shell furrowing as ire bloomed in his chest. Mirth flooded the other’s eyes, bringing with it that ashen chortle that only seemed to come out whenever the crimson shelled other could find that damnable temper rearing its head by some means. 

_ “We shall see then, once the both of us are of fit form to stretch our wings and properly dodge the other, just who causes hell for the other, mm?” _ Exhaling a breath that swelled his chest out with a certain boldness,  _ “You will stay then, yes…? Until you are at the very least well enough to duel?” _

And with that, his answer was given by a nod from the Nightmare King, 

_ “You offer your hospitality unto the wrong individual, my friend-- but I will accept your offer of quarters within the palace walls, Pale King.” _ He nodded his head gently, to which the Wyrm hummed with an odd sense of delight rearing its head deep within his chest, eyes curving upward with the beginnings of a grin tucked away, betraying his relief that he could rely on the other’s company for a little while longer than just a few more days. 

_ “I believe I shall be the one to decide whom is worthy of my hospitality, my friend. Until that day should come, then I believe you will be the one quite stuck in enduring my company-- I certainly must oversee your healing process to ensure all isn’t simply for naught”  _

Again that ashen and sharp hissing laugh returned, a bit more powerful in its sound, and nearly brimming with the familiar pride that the potential truth of facing down the Radiance had stamped back. 

It was… dare he say almost  _ charming _ to see such pride in another. 

Wait, what the hell was he thinking…?

Get such thoughts out of your head, Wyrm-- he is but a friend, one of which you would only bring suffering upon if you continued such fraternizing. The Radiance had proven she would strike down anyone that showed their trust lay on his side of this war they had brewed so long ago, he doesn’t deserve such agony after what he faced. 

And though such thoughts reigned their path within his mind, his expression did not shift from its benign and rather amused expression. Even if it had, the switch back had been quick enough that the other did not catch glimpse of it-- or if he had, he made no sign or motion to acknowledge it. 

But with a deep breath and tightening of his hands about the stave, he pushed at the chair beneath him to move to get up.  _ “Leaving so soon…?”  _ And he paused, blinking and shifted gaze from the empty space before him to lock back with the other’s nigh hypnotic and nightmarish scarlet hues-- the very same ones that brought an odd sense of growing familiarity with every passing day. 

Hands planted on either of the arms to the sculpted chair beneath him, he slackened his motion to try and stand with the subtle wince that had wracked his expression, and briefly settled back in the chair, glancing toward the drawn curtains and back to the other.  _ “I… I had quite believed it would be best if I left you to focus on rest--”  _

To which the other gave a soft wave of his hand through the air, as though dismissing such a thought, eyes shut for but a brief moment.  _ “Rest can wait for a later hour, my friend-- I believe, in due earnest truth, I may perhaps find myself to grow far more well with your company to pass the hours--”  _ And with that, he neatly crossed hands over his lap as crimson hues opened back to a half-lidded state. 

To which he could only blink back a rush of surprise. 

He… wanted him to stay?

_ “You would… prefer I not leave…?” _

The Nightmare King drew pause with a hum and cant of his head to the side,  _ “I tend to find the silence of this place to be overbearing, and the idle chatter of the many attendants can draw on to be rather droll” _ It drew a tilt of the Pale King’s head, something faint but enough to be noticeable if the other were watching him, and with those sharp scarlet hues trained on him, he didn’t doubt his every movement was taken in with great detail. 

But it was what he had come to expect of the other, an almost admirable sense of observance, and an almost eerie sense of focus when something caught his focus. And it seemed as he had stated before many a time, he was the object of his focus-- at least until his temper lost its amusing factor. 

With a lift of a hand that had been planted on the chair’s arm, he ran his palm over the brow of his shell, sliding it back with a press toward his horns, before letting it glide back down through the air, and settle back into his lap, an outward press of breath slipping from him, and a chortle, at last, breaking the silence that had fallen between them. 

_ “I suppose I wouldn’t mind a bit of time spent away from my chambers--” _ So long as it meant a bit of time deepening this comradery he had built with the other, he quite believed he wouldn’t mind the passing of time by any means. 

Again his expression threatened to shift, but with a skillful facade to slip into place before it could crack the surface of his collected and cool image-- what had that thought been? Such bothersome wanderings of the mind had no place within the depths of his mind, let alone such frivolous thoughts at that. 

_ “So then you will stay…?” _

Lifting his head, he feigned contemplation and lifted a hand from his lap to press in a manner that almost seemed to show his great reflection on just whether he would grant the other his presence for the day. To which the other gave a soft chuckle of his own-- 

Humming something akin to a soft chortle himself, he bowed his head in a nod, breaking the facade of faux contemplation--  _ “I believe I just may…” _

At least for today… mm, and perhaps the day after? Yes, he believed he would stave off his kingly duties for but a day longer for this fleeting solace in another’s company. 

What could it hurt? 

And so, the Nightmare King… no, and so  _ Grimm _ settled back against the bed’s headboard, as did the Wyrm in his own manifested chair-- and the silence was broken not by the muffled flutter of Lunafly wings in their lanterns, or the idle chatter of the dutiful attendants of this lavish infirmary-- but the divine and rolling echo of godly tongues spoken between the lone two within the entirety of the Palace walls that would ever understand such deific talk. 

And they talked… 

And by the celestial nature of the skies… the Wyrm quite believed he could get used to this. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Side note, one of the commenters on a previous chapter mentioned something regarding the Grimm Troupe coming to Hallownest early, let it be known this is long before the foundation of the Troupe-- this is before the search for the Dreamers, this is actually well before the alliance with the royalty of Deepnest was ever a thing-- 
> 
> So, unfortunate as it is, I don't quite believe we'll be seeing Brumm/Nymm anywhere in this fic, or Divine for that matter-- now the Grimmkin, that I'm uncertain on, and quite believe they may pop up somewhere. Don't take my word on that, because it's currently just a possibility.
> 
> Other than that, thank you for reading!


End file.
